


November 1st

by penceyprat



Category: Fall Out Boy, Mindless Self Indulgence, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Artist Gerard Way, Autistic Gerard Way, Depressed Gerard Way, Depression, Drowning, Everything is a metaphor relating to water and drowning, Frank finds Gerard's suicide note but the name is smudged, Gender-Neutral Mikey Way, High School, M/M, Mentally Ill Gerard Way, Photographer Gerard Way, Suicidal Gerard Way, Suicide, Suicide Notes, Transphobia, he has thirty days to find out who wrote it and try to stop it, non-binary mikey way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-04-03 09:21:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 110,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4095502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penceyprat/pseuds/penceyprat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the lake in November, and the move closer to the ocean, and Gerard's fixation, and Gerard's compulsions like tidal waves dragging him down, like he's drifting out into the middle of the ocean, just stuck there: water turning to quicksand around him, drowning.</p>
<p>And the letter; Frank finds it on the floor of the boys' bathroom, and the only paragraph legible is the final one, and even still, it barely is: 'I've been underwater for a long time now, but I'm not drowning, I'm beginning to think I can breathe like this, but I can't, I'm gasping for breath, and I have to do this, Mikey, I have to end this myself. I'm going to the lake on the 1st of November, don't wait for me... I'm not coming back.'</p>
<p>The name signed at the bottom is little more than a smudged mess of blue ink, and it's obviously a suicide note, Frank's stupid, but not stupid enough to brush over that fact, and whoever this person is, Frank knows that they most certainly don't deserve to die. And Frank isn't going to let them, but one person in a whole school, it's like a needle in a haystack, but he's got time, it's November 1st in thirty days, and he can only hope that it will be enough.</p>
<p>He's got one month: the date is October 1st.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Monday, October 1st

It's the last thing he expects to see and it's most certainly the last thing he wants to, because Frank can't deal with this _shit_ , with this mess, especially not now, because his head is a mess and he's totally late for French, but as he picks the screwed up piece of paper from the floor and attempts to make out the words, French class doesn't seem to matter at all anymore.

The paper was a letter or some sort: handwritten in blue ink, and smudged to shit, which really wasn't helping matters at all, but Frank could hardly complain, seeing as he was technically invading someone's privacy by picking this up and reading it, but he read it nevertheless, or at least what he could make out of the smudged inky mess that had perhaps once been of some value and some importance to someone.

The only legible paragraph perhaps explained it all, because perhaps Frank didn't need to know, perhaps Frank _shouldn't_ know, but from the looks of things, he really should.

_'I've been underwater for a long time now, but I'm drowning, I'm beginning to think I can breathe like this, but I can't, I'm gasping for breath, and I have to do this, Mikey, I have to end this myself. I'm going to the lake on the 1st of November, don't wait for me... I'm not coming back.'_

And Frank knew nothing; he knew not who the letter was from, as the name, much like the rest of it had been smudged away with what Frank desperately hoped was tap water. And he doesn't know who Mikey is, or who this person is to them.

But Frank most definitely knows that the person who wrote this isn't okay, and that they're planning to kill themselves, and that they're planning to do so on November 1st. He also reckons that Mikey never did receive this letter, because the way it was laid on the floor seems accidental, almost as if it slipped from a pocket or something of the like.

And just like that, sixteen year old Frank Iero forgets all about French and meets his reflection in the mirrors of the boys toilets were he was stood, now in some form of panicked state, because the letter and the consequences it had brought on deserved nothing less.

Because Frank was stupid, but not quite stupid enough to be able to trick himself into thinking that he could just leave it and that everything would be okay, because Frank _cared_ , even if the person who'd written this turned out to be a major asshole, because _no one_ deserved that, and Frank knew it all too well.

He'd been there himself after all: a few years ago, he reckoned it wasn't as bad as the person who'd written this letter, because Frank had never quite reached the letter and date part, but sure he'd gotten close.

But this wasn't about him, but about the person who'd written this letter, and what on earth Frank could do about it.

Sure, he could hand it in to school but what the fuck would they do? What the fuck _could_ they do? It wasn't like the person was just going to own up and babble out their sorrows to the shitty school counselor; it was evident that they were far past that point now.

And Frank was out of his depth, and that was perhaps knee-deep water in the vast stormy ocean that the writer of the letter found themselves in, and he couldn't possibly brave this on his own and save them like this.

But he had to.

He had to try at least.

Because Frank wasn't heartless, and he was the one person who'd happened upon this letter and there was no changing that now.

He had one clue, after all: _Mikey_.

And Frank had very little clue as to who Mikey was, or who Mikey could possibly be, but he had to try, he had to ask around, because at the very least, they deserved to see this letter, and surely, fucking _surely_ Frank just hoped that they could do something from there.

Because Frank had assumed that via the use of the name, the letter itself was addressed to Mikey, and with the nature of its contents, Frank reckoned Mikey had to be pretty important to the letter writer, and therefore, they should be close, and therefore Mikey would probably know which of the few people they were close to could possibly feel like this.

Or perhaps just recognise their handwriting, for Christ's sake.

And that all sounded so easy, but Frank knew no one called Mikey, and Frank was pathetically shy, and fucked up, and so _late_ to French that he might as well skip it altogether, and regardless of the detention that would follow, that idea seemed all too appealing.

Because he couldn't focus; he couldn't think, not about anything besides this letter and whoever wrote it.

God, he just wished he could have been able to make out the rest of it and possibly have some more clues to the identity of the letter writer, but still Frank couldn't help but feel like that the more he didn't know the better, because despite this all, he was still invading someone's privacy, and it had probably taken a lot for them to consider expressing this to Mikey, and surely it would feel like a kick to the face for some random dude to pick it up and read it.

But it was accidental; it was dropped, and it wasn't Frank's fault, it was no one's fault at all, and Frank repeated that to himself as he put the letter in his pocket.

And in that very moment, the date November 1st seemed to find itself permanently imprinted upon the sixteen year old's mind, because just like this, that day mattered, this letter mattered, Mikey mattered, and the letter writer he knew nothing about mattered _all so much_.

Because they sounded alone out there, out at sea, drowning in the waves, and Frank wanted to be there for them as much as he could be, and not just because this hit home, but because Frank Iero liked to think he was a nice person.

And this wasn't just a charity case, and this didn't just play on his conscience; Frank genuinely cared, because that's what he would have needed and he _knew_ that, and he just hoped that the same could be said for the writer of this letter, and he just hoped he could find them and stop them before November 1st.

He had one month, he had thirty days: the date was October 1st.

-

Gerard had always been fascinated with the ocean, ever since he was little, of course, little was broad, and hard to define, and by Mikey's judgement, being a few inches taller than their brother, Gerard was still little.

But for as long as Gerard could remember, the background of his mind had been ocean waves: bottle green to aquamarine blue and everything in between, and he had quite the 'obsession' as Mrs Way would put it, but seventeen year old Gerard Way glanced at his bedroom wall and the exactly one hundred taped up photographs of the ocean and saw it as nothing but normal.

They'd moved closer to the sea seven months ago, in March, and from Gerard's father's eyes, they'd moved to a better neighborhood, to a new job, to a new school, but all Gerard saw was the blue gray ocean outside his window and the Jersey beaches that were never quite pleasant enough to walk on barefoot.

Gerard wasn't much of a photographer but he'd taken hundreds of photos, and all of the ocean and sea, because nothing else quite seemed worth the time in his mind, and no one had dared question that.

It was easier that way.

Sixteen year old Mikey had really 'blossomed' in their new neighborhood as their school report had put it, whereas Gerard refused to cooperate, and socialise, especially with other students; Gerard disagreed, but he reckoned the school were entitled to their opinion of him, just as he was entitled to his of them, but of course, they didn't take nearly as kindly to it when he'd sent them a letter: scrawled in blue ink on lined paper, detailing the honest truth in what he thought of the place and how it was run.

Gerard wrote letters, preferring to communicate in pen and ink as opposed to conversation, and it was something his parents had never really appreciated, and perhaps one of the reasons they had taken him to the doctors at age eight, anyway.

Gerard didn't speak much at all, only when it was necessary or when he really had something to say; it wasn’t like he was _shy_ , he just didn't like talking, and that was that - simple in his head, but completely bizarre in others, and that was that, so it seemed.

When Gerard _did_ speak, it was often in French too, which had really baffled his parents when he was younger, because no one in the family had ever taught him a word, and somehow this eight year old child and somewhat of a solid grasp on a completely foreign language.

Gerard's grandmother had died when Gerard was seven, and he hadn't taken to it well, and Mrs Way had simply muttered something about Gerard never taking to anything well that Mr Way had shushed her for: weeks prior, she'd spoken to Gerard about her dreams to visit Paris, and a French dictionary had somehow found its way into the hands of the seven year old child, and after she'd died, Gerard had memorised every single word, just because it felt right, and because he missed her.

It made sense in his mind after all.

Mrs Way had looked at him oddly, and the doctor had too, and Mikey, too young to comprehend at the time, had looked on in a young innocent state of bewilderment.

The word 'autistic' had meant nothing to Gerard at that age, but his mother's _tears_ had, because this mattered to her more than it ever had to Gerard.

And only in his late teenage years did Gerard really begin to understand that doctors appointment and the psychologist and the French dictionary and his grandmother's death.

Because it had always made sense: everything in Gerard's head was logical, connected like the strings of a web, but it seemed the web was invisible to the rest of the world, leaving his actions and thoughts as little more than a clustered to mess on any onlooker.

Mrs Way had preferred Mikey ever since that doctor's appointment and he'd only realised it in recent years, and he somewhat wished he hadn't, because there was nothing _wrong_ with him, but there _was_ , and to his mother he'd never be normal, he'd never be the same, and Gerard didn't want to be normal, but she didn't understand that.

Gerard reckoned that she wasn't a bad mother, though, just a flawed woman, and everyone did indeed have their flaws, and Gerard knew his own in great detail: he was too obsessive, too different, his head didn't make sense, he was anti-social, and he was on too many pills, and his therapist called him 'difficult' four years ago now, and Gerard hadn't once went a day without pondering that fact, and just what 'difficult' connoted to.

Mikey had 'become' less of the 'perfect child' that Mrs Way had envisioned having come the twentieth of June, and they'd sat Gerard and their parents down in the living room and pulled a piece of paper from their pocket: a letter like Gerard wrote, and Mrs Way had groaned internally at the sight.

Mikey had passed the letter to Gerard first, waiting on edge as he read the note detailing how they now identify as gender neutral and want to use they/them pronouns.

Gerard was open to it: a little curious at first, asking questions, _too many_ questions as his mother often told him, but Mikey had answered them, and it made sense in his head soon enough, but still Mrs Way had far too much to say, and Mikey hadn't wanted to hear it, storming out of the house and down to the beach to overlook the sea, and Mrs Way had muttered something about Mikey becoming like Gerard when she thought her eldest couldn't hear, but he had.

And Gerard had thought about it everyday since.

His father had eventually asked him to go and talk to Mikey and tell them that their mother was sorry and just overreacting, and Gerard grabbed his camera, and did so, and the two siblings had stood there in little more than silence for too long, but still not long enough, and with time, Gerard had taken seven pictures of the sea and the horizon.

And Mikey had met Gerard's gaze and asked him what he genuinely thought of them.

And Gerard didn't lie, and when he tried, he made a terrible job of it entirely, so Mikey trusted every word uttered as Gerard met his sibling's gaze and told them that he thought they were annoying and cooler than him and taller than him, which wasn't fair because they were younger, and Mikey had laughed a little, before pausing to realise that Gerard had used the right pronouns.

Gerard and Mikey were never really that close until June 20th when the seventeen year old and the then fifteen year old had made their way back home with smiles, and just as they were about to leave the beach, Gerard had told Mikey to stay still in front of the sea, holding up his camera, and that was the first moment Gerard had thought worth capturing in his camera lens.

It had meant the world to Mikey, who had the photo printed and taped to their bedroom wall in much the same manner as Gerard, and in much the same manner that their mother shook her head at.

Gerard had always been a little _rocky_ , and on at least two different types of medication at the same time, and he'd really thought nothing of it until he'd turned sixteen and he'd snuck out for the first time: to the beach, because where else, and he sat there and watched the waves in silence for three hours, and he let his eyes fixate upon a piece of drift wood out on the ocean, and the way each wave seemed to lap over it.

He wanted a photo; he needed a photo.

He'd walked out into the sea for the said photo, not anticipating the water to be as strong or as deep as it was, and last May was the first time that Gerard had nearly drowned, and the only time that had been accidental.

He'd woken up in hospital with salt water still on his breath, and his eyes rubbed red and raw, and despite the mess, he felt alive, he felt ready to paint for the first time in months to paint the ocean, but the feeling had subsided with the medication he'd been prescribed, and all inspiration and _life_ was lost.

Gerard craved that feeling again with time, and he'd gone to great lengths in acquiring, because being around the sea wasn't just enough; he needed that feeling of salt water purging his lungs once again; he needed that near death, the icy water, and he'd woken up in the hospital for the second time in July of that year.

He'd been prescribed yet more medication and his mother had started to lock his door at night, and he tried to explain the sensation and the rush and the water to his new therapist who wasn't nearly as nice, but she wasn’t nearly as nice and she didn't understand, and Gerard had confined himself in his room for months after that.

He'd turned to sketching: images of the ocean, of course, and he knew it well enough to sketch it forever, but it wasn't quite like the real thing, and his sketches remained in pencil and nothing more, not warranting watercolour, as Gerard's inspiration felt empty and dry like a desert.

And with the key in the lock, there was little he could do about it.

The first time, Gerard had genuinely forgot, to take his medication that was, and his mother was out, and his father was so much less of a helicopter parent and had busied himself with this week's episode of 'Antiques Roadshow' and for the first time in forever, on a December night, Gerard felt that rush, he felt the ocean, he felt it without drowning, he was underwater, he was alive, and he'd painted for the first time in close to a year, and he'd taped it to his wall and stared at it for hours.

It had meant the world, but it wasn't enough, because as his mother returned and the pills came back into contact with his system the tide faded away, and like a fish out of water, Gerard felt back into nothingness, and from that moment, he _knew_ it, it was the medication, and he wasn't at all sure as to why he wasn't supposed to feel like this, but he knew he couldn't mention anything, and from that day onwards, Gerard hadn't taken a single pill.

He'd stored them away in a cupboard, and in presence of his mother, he'd kept them inside his mouth until he could spit them back out when she wasn't looking, and from that day onwards, Gerard's mind had been _alive_ : a mess of bright colours in every shade of blue and green and a heart that beat too fast in all the wrong circumstances, and seven paintings and no hours of sleep, and a grin as he snuck out, just for the rush and the smell of sea salt.

But the good things never lasted, as the feeling subsided in a few months time, and Gerard had been left here, not like before, as the ocean was still present, but he felt himself lost in it, which was most certainly a feeling Gerard wasn't accustomed to.

Because Gerard had never really experienced helpless and drowning until that moment, and from that day on, he was treading water amidst a typhoon for his whole life, and it didn't stop, it _never_ stopped, and his mother couldn't know, and Mikey only began to understand in the recent past, but Gerard didn't speak too much, and he didn't write letters anymore, because his mum always found them.

But he couldn't do this anymore, he can't keep himself afloat, and his lungs ache from the salt water, but he can't _drown_ , he had to do this himself, he had to _end_ this, and he knew exactly how.

The ocean was an obvious choice, and when his mother took note of his absence that was most certainly the first place he'd look, so Gerard settled on the lake on the outskirts of town - it wasn't the same: freshwater, for a start, but it was large and deep enough, and Gerard couldn't exactly be picky here anymore.

November 1st is the 305th day of the year, and that's as meaningless to Gerard as the world around him, and he likes that, and it's as good as a date as any: the thirty days perhaps giving him long enough to finally compose the final letter in blue ink to Mikey, explaining this all: what it meant to have your lungs fill with salt water but never drown.

Gerard called himself an anomaly in that respect; he didn't like it - it sounded like something his mother would say, so he strived to fix it.

-


	2. Tuesday, October 2nd

Frank had never reckoned that this whole note thing would have bothered him quite as much as it had ended up doing, but of course, as had already been established, Frank was an idiot.

A world class fucking idiot, and somewhat proud of it too, which of course only added to the idiocy, because Frank could have the world record for being the world's biggest loser and he'd still be proud.

But that was something, at least.

But this note was something else entirely, and it had kept Frank up at night, with the folded up piece of lined paper on his bedside table, within reach, because Frank had developed this awful habit of reading it over in excess, despite the fact that he'd barely even been in possession of it for twelve hours.

He groaned, rolling over in bed, and coming to accept that perhaps sleep simply wouldn't come tonight, and the number two for two am glaring at him from his alarm clock in the darkness of the room was certainly doing him no favours.

And fuck, because Frank could feel a stupid decision coming a mile off, but at this point he'd become somewhat accustomed to embracing them, which was of course even more preposterous than the ideas themselves, but he had little left to do.

Frank was a compulsive failure, and relishing in that fact as he crawled out of bed, and pulled on jeans from earlier and the first shirt he found, before grabbing his jacket and making his way out of his bedroom window and somehow managing to make it to the ground without breaking his neck - this was probably something to with the fact that Frank lived in a bungalow. 

He still had difficulty, though, so don't suppress his struggles.

The sixteen year old pulled his hood up, and did his best to ignore the cold October breeze, and the dark night around him as he made his way through the streets, headed down to the beach, because fuck, it was cold and horrible, but Frank needed to be alone, he needed to think, and he needed to get his head together.

Although he was sure that he could never quite get his head together, because Frank couldn't shake the feeling that he simply didn't have all the pieces. It was an odd feeling, to say the least, but one soon discarded as the smell of the ocean hit Frank's lungs, and the sixteen year old sat down on the sand, close to the sea, but within safe distance of the tide, because it was October, and it was Jersey, and the water was fucking _cold_.

He sucked in a breath, and lit a cigarette, caring little for the consequences or the people in the beach front houses who probably resented his existence for getting in the way of their view, not that he suspected many people were awake at two in the morning on a Tuesday, but Frank just laughed to himself and hoped there was a sea storm and the beachfront houses got flooded.

He actually began to consider it for a moment: a tsunami hitting the town, and it all being destroyed, and somehow, Frank found comfort in that - an odd kind of sadistic comfort that made him laugh to himself, but comfort nonetheless, even in his own watery demise too.

And then, Frank's mind was alight with thoughts of the note - left up in his bedroom, and _fuck_ , Frank had every urge to go back for it, but fuck, it wasn't like he couldn't recite the one legible paragraph at this point.

He attempted to make sense of the rest of the note, but it simply wasn't possible; he'd considered scanning it into his computer and zooming in super far in photoshop, but still, he doubted it'd work, and still, he doubted he'd get much more out of the letter than invading some poor person's privacy, which was something Frank still felt guilty about, but he'd much rather have someone embarrassed than dead.

And that was assuming that Frank could actually put a stop to this mess, of course, which was even in the back of his mind, unlikely, but he was still going strong upfront, and it was two am and he was so absolutely fucked come tomorrow at school, and he was supposed to be in some desperate search for this Mikey kid, but _fuck_.

Fuck, _fuck_ , fuck.

Surely he could just talk to Ray about it? Ray would understand, and Ray was far more patient than him, and therefore talked to considerably more people, and _had_ , absolutely _had_ to know a Mikey, and then, all Frank had to do was show them this letter, seeing as it was intended for them, but of course, things would never be quite that easy, would they?

Because the universe just absolutely _loved_ fucking with Frank's head.

And on that note, Frank was certain that those footsteps he could hear were definitely in his head, but, curiosity soon got the better of him, and he eventually turned, and almost had somewhat of a heart attack at the figure stood just a few metres away from him with a stick in their head.

It was a pretty threatening stick, held in a pretty threatening position, so Frank totally had all the right to yet out a startled kind of extremely manly yelp.

The figure dropped the stick in surprise, shuddering a little, "I- I'm sorry... I- I- I thought you were... I thought you were that cannibal that everyone talks about."

"You know that's just a rumour? Bullshit, you know?" Frank laughed a little, seriously wanting to slap himself in the face for ever being scared of this kid, because from their voice, they were clearly about his age.

"How _do_ you know? Is there any evidence that they don't exist?" The figure added, seeming quite determined that there was indeed some sort of beach front cannibal, but Frank had actually been there when Lindsey had made that one up, so no fucking way.

"Is there any evidence they do? Come on, think about it? _Cannibal_? Shitty beach front town? If I was a cannibal I'd go to the city, and there'd be evidence if they did exist, like someone would have reported it to the police-"

"But what if they do exist- what if _you_ are-"

" _Fuck_." Frank shook his head in disbelief, "look don't tell anyone, but, I was there when Lindsey Ballato made that one up to impress Jimmy Urine. The cannibal isn't real, I'm sorry. And seriously, if I _was_ the cannibal, I would have jumped you by now, surely? And like a _stick_? Seriously, if I was the cannibal what was your plan to protect yourself with a _stick_?"

"I... I... I don't know."

Frank smiled a little, "sit down, what's your name? I'm Frank."

The figure appeared a little hesitant, but within a moment or two, they had joined Frank by the oceanfront, pulling their hood down to reveal a fucking beautiful face, and Frank was glad it was kind of dark, because otherwise this guy would have totally noticed him staring.

"I'm Gerard." He smiled a little, "I'm not the cannibal either, by the way."

"I reckoned so - if you were, I'm guessing you would have had more competent means of attacking victims as opposed to a fucking _stick_ -"

"Stop talking about the stick." Gerard blushed, and Frank chuckled a little, because it was kind of cute, and Frank didn't even know who the fuck this guy was, and the likelihood was that they'd never meet again, but he was seriously kind of cute.

"Okay then, it's two in the morning, it's a Tuesday, what are you doing at the beach?" Frank paused, meeting Gerard's gaze before continuing, "and if you say hunting for cannibals I will go and pick that stick up and slaughter you with it."

"It's a stick?"

"So, I'm experienced- _no_ , no... I don't I... I don't know what I'm saying... I'm not a serial killer or a cannibal or anything, I promise." Frank blushed like hell, because he was such a pathetic failure around cute boys, and this only served as continuous evidence that he was indeed a raging idiot.

"I'm here because of the ocean, and I need to see it, because... because... I-... I- I-"

"It's okay if you don't wanna talk about it." Frank added, pausing to glance at Gerard, who nodded in response, "I'm here because I can't sleep, and I'm totally fucked tomorrow because I can barely stay awake at school normally, let alone with like no sleep."

"Stay off school tomorrow then?" Gerard suggested, his gaze fixated upon the ocean in front of them, and Frank didn't blame him, because the darkened, faded bottle green waves were most certainly more aesthetically inclined than his shitty sleep deprived face was.

"I have something important to do, so yeah, I kind of have to be there." Frank, of course, didn't mention that this important something was his quest for a Mikey to chase up a certain note he wasn't supposed to have found.

"Oh," Gerard let out a sigh, before really turning to Frank and noticing the cigarette in his hand, "you shouldn't smoke, you know? You have an increased risk of lung cancer, it's like _really_ bad for you-"

"I really don't care." Frank snapped, leaving Gerard a little wide eyed, his heart suddenly turning into a sinking ship inside him. "About the lung cancer, not you, I care about you, I mean, I don't even _know_ you, but I care about you."

"So if I smoked you'd be worried about me getting lung cancer but not worried about yourself?" Gerard paused, taking a moment to comprehend what Frank was saying here. "I don't smoke, by the way."

"That's good, don't start." Frank let out a laugh, "I'm like a forty year old woman, I know, I know, but, it's true, you're too pretty to die young."

And Gerard found himself stunned into silence for a moment, swallowing hard as he looked out across the ocean, unable to force any sort of response form his lips, let alone an adequate one. "No one's ever told me that before."

"Well I expect that you don't tend to discuss your own death on a regular basis." Frank smiled, continuing to smoke, blissfully unaware of the boy beside him and the tears in his eyes and thoughts in his head and the way everything ticked and worked together like some sort of grenade or time bomb or something. "You are seriously pretty, though, like I don't mean to creep you out, I'm just saying here."

"I... I..." Gerard stuttered out, his eyes wide and suddenly glassy.

"Accept it, come on, it's true, like, _look_ at you, all..." Frank trailed off as he met Gerard's gaze, swallowing hard at the sight of tear stained yes. " _Fuck_ , dude, what did I say? Are you okay?"

"I... I... I..."

"I'm so sorry, _fuck_ , I... I'm a fuck up, did I mention? I do this a lot, fuck things up, you know, like I don't know why, it's like god really fucking hates me or something, but that's an excuse, I'm just a failure, I-"

"I... I... I... I have to go." Gerard finally managed to push the words from his lips, getting to his feet and setting a quick pace away from Frank, before the sixteen year old could consider doing anything.

" _Fuck_." He muttered aloud, because _fuck_ , fucking _fuck_ him and how he always messed things up, and how he wasn't even sure how, but Frank would have totally given something to have kissed that boy, and hell, he was probably straight, and it was probably like Frank was wasting his time, but he couldn't quite get himself to believe it.

Because his head was fucked up, and it was all to do with the letter up in his room at home.

"I've been underwater for a long time now, but I'm drowning, I'm beginning to think I can breathe like this, but I can't, I'm gasping for breath, and I have to dot his, Mikey, I have to end this myself. I'm going to the lake on the 1st of November, don't wait for me... I'm not coming back."

Because Frank had memorised it like Gerard had memorised the French dictionary; it was like Frank was mourning before anyone had even died, because deep down, there was apart of him that knew this would always be out of his control.

But _fuck_ listening to that part, because it sounded an awful lot like the 'father' of his that had walked out five years ago.

-

 

Frank had gotten something all too close to no sleep whatsoever, and he was perhaps far too dissatisfied with that for someone who had received such a fate out of nothing but their own ill judgement.

Because, of course, Frank never _had_ to pick up that letter, and he never _had_ to read it, and he never _had_ to sneak out last night, and he never _had_ to talk to that boy and fuck his mind over with thoughts of someone who he'd never find himself concerned with again, outsides the constrains of his own mind, of course.

But no self criticism could affect the very simple fact that Frank was _exhausted_ : both physically and mentally so, and his whole head reciting that one simple paragraph at every opportunity, as his ears sparked up at every mention of a name beginning with 'M', but no 'Mikey', no fucking _Mikey_ , never a fucking Mikey.

And perhaps Frank was even beginning wonder if this Mikey even existed, and if this letter was much more than a joke or something of the like, but of course it wasn't, because what kind of sick, twisted fuck would make this up, and just _leave_ it there for someone to find.

No one.

Or at least, Frank really fucking hoped so.

Because he'd put so much more than he'd ever care to admit into this letter: the words he could recite by heart, and the name and face that he reckoned he'd never put to the most heart-breaking words scrawled in blue ink.

He had time, though, not time in excess, but time enough, and that would have to do, because it wasn't like Frank had an abundance of choice around this matter, because for a start, it really wasn't his business, but deep down, Frank reckoned it had become his business the very first time he'd read that paragraph over.

Because Frank just wasn't going to let this poor fuck do this to themself.

" _Frank_?" 

He jumped a little, his head drifting somewhere between unconscious and reality: the purgatory that the letter seemed to have taken hold over, the realm in which everything revolved around the writer of the letter, and the ocean, and Frank's headache, and his need for sleep, and his inability to get any, and the boy who he'd never meet again, but the boy he still couldn't quite get out his mind.

It was almost as if Frank's mind had simply been engineered to work _against_ him; the thought almost made Frank chuckle, _almost_.

Because Pete was glaring at him, and Frank couldn't help but feel a little intimidated, and a little too distracted from being amused by his own twisted thoughts.

"Are you even _alive_? You've been like this all day." Lindsey added, raising her eyebrows at him from across the table, and Frank simply shrugged, because fuck everything, and especially fuck friends who asked too many questions.

"Yeah, dude, what's up?" The question came from Ray this time, and Frank was shooting him pleading eyes, because Ray sometimes managed to understand why Frank didn't want to talk about his feelings, but from the stern undertones in his gaze, Frank was certain that this was not one of those times. "Look, I'm not dropping it, you've been weird all day, and you weren't even here for half of the day yesterday, and I know it's _you_ , Frank, but we are actually starting to get worried."

" _You_ are getting worried, you mean." Pete corrected him, "I'm just pissed off, because no one's fucking listening to me."

"Shut up, Pete, stop talking about yourself for one goddamn moment, how about that?" Lindsey rolled her eyes, and met Frank's gaze once more. "Come on, Frank, _something_ 's up, tell us?"

And for a moment there, Frank did genuinely consider telling them about the letter and letting them into the headache crushing his life, but _fuck_ , he just couldn't, and he didn't quite know why, and perhaps it was the fact that he didn't much expect them to understand, or perhaps it was simple an odd kind of jealousy strung from a peculiar attachment Frank had developed to the letter folded up in his jacket pocket over the past day or so.

He didn't want to bring them into this, that was for sure. But he did, of course, need some help when it came to finding this 'Mikey', but of course, he didn't need to show them the letter to ask about someone, did he?

"Do you guys know anyone called... Mikey?" He stuttered out, his unsteady tone not exactly reflecting upon him in the best of lights, but that was just Frank's luck, after all.

"Mikey?" Lindsey paused for a moment, thinking it over. "Not me, no. Ray? Pete?"

" _Why?"_ Was Ray's immediate response, "I don't by the way, but, _why_ , come on, Frank, nothing makes sense with you anymore."

"Doesn't matter, just thought I... _Pete_?" He turned to the shorter boy, watching as he blushed a little.

"No- no, I don't know anyone called Mikey, no, no, sorry, buddy." Frank was a little confused, but Pete was _Pete_ , and the more he talked about this, the more questions he was asked, and in turn, the more questions he couldn't answer.

" _Why_?" Lindsey added, just a little more persistent than Ray had been.

"I... I just heard he had some weed, that's all, I don't know, it's just a name I heard, I can get some from Bob, just you know, you gotta investigate new things, haven't you?" Frank pulled his face into an awkward and seriously unconvincing smile.

"Okay... so what's up?" Lindsey continued, also as if she had never heard of just letting the fuck go of things that just weren't your business.

"Nothing, I'm just _tired_ -"

"Yeah, I've only heard that one a million times before."

"No, seriously, I literally got no sleep last night, I'm drifting off like whenever I close my eyes I just go the fuck to sleep, it's bad, yeah, but I'll get some sleep tonight, I promise." Frank nodded enthusiastically, however he highly doubted that the aforementioned was a promise he could keep, and it really wasn't even his fault, not that they'd ever understand, of course.

"Sure." Ray was unconvinced, and shot a glance at Lindsey, as Frank laid his head down on the desk once more and recited the paragraph over in his head.

Because fuck, he a month, but a month wasn't enough, he doubted it ever be enough, and especially when there was little to no hope of even _finding_ this elusive Mikey.

But Frank was stubborn in everything and this 'quest' was no exception, as he let his eyelids flicker shut, and open again to the ocean waves: dark blue and shimmering under blue skies that seemed almost out of place considering the Jersey shoreline, and a lighthouse a top a cliff Frank didn't recognise, and his limbs kicking at his navy blue surroundings, but to no avail, as the skies darkened, and the waves pulled him in and under.

He heard thunder, a flash of lightening, rain, and wind, a hurricane, a sea storm, or something, before nothing, and floating away from himself as his body washed up on shore.

-


	3. Wednesday, October 3rd

Frank had known from his first glance out of the kitchen window that there was no chance he was braving what seemed to be little short of a full blown storm, a fucking torrential downpour, and just because his mother had told him to, of all reasons, because seriously Frank was getting behind on the gay, rebellious agenda that he was supposed to be committed to.

But his mother had narrowed her eyes in that unnervingly and oddly threatening manner and slid the dog lead across the table towards him, before making her way into the study; she was busy at work, that was all Frank knew, not that he particularly yearned to know every detail of his mother's work schedule, of course.

He let out a sigh as he made a grab for the lead, perhaps just contemplating the thought, glancing between the lead and the downpour outside, and finally, Daisy, as she made her way into the kitchen: tongue hanging out, as she too seemed to look between the lead and the weather outside, and then  _pleadingly_  at Frank.

And fuck it, because if there was one thing that Frank loved in this world, it was Daisy, and perhaps this would give him some air anyway: some space and time to think, to detach himself from the mess of the letter, and the person who'd written it, and the seven messages Ray had left on his phone - overly concerned about how 'odd' Frank had been acting yesterday.

It wasn't like Frank wasn't grateful for his friends, he just needed time, fucking  _endless_  time in the circumstances, even.

He'd copied the letter into a note on his cellphone now, just in case anything would happen to it, and of course, taken a photo too, just to be safe, and he was content in leaving the letter itself home and safe in his drawer, as he slid his cellphone into his hoodie pocket, and grabbed the lead, Daisy grinning at him as he made his way to the door.

Perhaps Frank had severely underestimated the circumstances outside, and perhaps Frank had also severely underestimated just how eager Daisy was: running down the pavement and playing in a puddle, as Frank was left begrudgingly at the other end of a lead, as he cursed to himself and pulled his hood further over his head.

Daisy eventually seemed to get over the initial excitement that the rain outside had brought, as she returned to a calmer pace, still ahead of Frank, but comfortably so, and perhaps even leading the boy through the paths and pavements of a town they both knew all too well, and barely at all at the same time.

Frank lit himself a cigarette as soon as they got far enough away from home for him to be comfortable in his belief that his mother wouldn't spot him 'rotting his lungs away'. Of course, getting a lighter to work amidst a rainstorm was more difficult than Frank had accounted for, and he found himself cursing, before he finally got the damn cigarette to light, and quite honestly, it really didn't seem worth the effort.

And quite honestly, neither did this, but Daisy was happy, and Frank did love her an awful lot, and perhaps hiss head did indeed some sort of change in scenery, but as he glanced out across the sea front, Daisy having strayed down through the houses and out to the coastline without him even noticing, he couldn't help but think of the letter written in blue ink, by the person intending to drown themselves.

The sea was stormy today: all shades of grey and grimy side of the road cracked beer bottle green, with froth and waves too powerful, thrashing against the shore, but nothing particularly spectacular of tsunami like: just high tide, and dreary weather, and a cloudy sky.

It was oddly beautiful, though, and Frank couldn't help but admit that to himself, as Daisy even came to a halt at the boulevard rail: the two looking out across at the beach, and the ocean below, and words written in the sand, easily washed away into nothing: another simple reminder that everything was temporary.

And Frank reckoned he found himself captured in the ocean and its power for minutes on end, only startling and looking up, as Daisy began to tug on the lead, letting out little yaps as she did so, and in consequence diverting Frank's attention to the cliff tops above and a figure: unable to make out, but there even when Frank rubbed his eyes, and most definitely real.

The figure looked over the edge of the cliffs and at the ocean below, before turning away, and looking as if to shiver and panic a little as they made their way back further in land, but their footsteps slow, and showing little intention of making it back down to the town.

And Frank wondered for a moment just what could possibly be going through the figure's mind as they gazed over the cliff top and down into the ocean below; he wondered if they'd even think as to put pen to paper and drop the note in the boys' bathroom - Frank deemed it unlikely, but most certainly not impossible, and as the figure stepped towards the ocean again, Frank began to quicken his pace, even to a jog, as he made his way up the cliff top, and perhaps slipping a thousand times on rocks as he did so, but there was just something inside him, willingly him to make his way up there, and to make sure everything was okay.

He approached the figure: still stood almost anxiously, and just a few meters away from the edge, yelling out, "hey, are you okay?" His words came out somewhat distorted by the wind and the rain, but the figure turned, seeming to jump a little at the sight of Frank.

"Yeah... I'm fine... I... I'm good..." They responded, however, it certainly wasn't the most convincing thing Frank had ever heard by far.

"Are you?" Frank asked again, stepping closer, and Daisy running further towards the figure, towards the edge, and even going as far as to tug on her lead as she did so.

"I.. I'm..." The figure turned, glancing to the ocean once more, and then back at Frank, and Daisy, pulling on the lead, almost desperate to reach them. "I don't know..."

"Can you come away from the edge?" Frank asked, gesturing the figure closer.

"I'm not... I'm not gonna  _jump_ , dude... I... I just... the sea, it calms me, you know?" The figure responded, stepping closer regardless.

"Still, it's windy... you could get swept over... it's dangerous, look, come on, it's dangerous to be up here even, let's just get down and we'll go to a cafe, and we'll talk okay?"

"If you're buying coffee that is." The figure's face twisted up into something like a smile as they neared even further.

"Sure."

-

When Gerard drew, it was always the ocean, and today was no different: pencil to paper, and headphones falling gently and slowly from his ears, the sound of Radiohead muffling into nothingness as he turned his head, and moved gently as he drew.

However, as the sound drowned out from his ears, the world outside poured in, and as his headphones fell against the skin of his neck, he snapped as a door slammed in the background - his pencil breaking as it shuddered against the paper, creating a line entirely too straight, entirely too rigid, and Gerard stared down at the piece, his hands shaking a little, as a another door slam echoed throughout the house.

Again, he jittered a little, grinding down on his back teeth, as his eyes seemed to rake of the piece: focusing so hard his head began to ache upon the one line that had fucked it all up. He brought his hand to the eraser on his desk, his hand shaking a little as he held it, yet another door slam causing him to drop it completely, and then as voices became audible, he looked down at the pencil work, and the piece of paper, and the view from his bedroom window, and how suddenly it was all so fucking  _meaningless_.

He got to his feet, slamming his hands on the desk as he did so, causing it to shake enough to let the paper slip from the surface and fall to the floor by the eraser, however Gerard remained disinterested, his eyes fixated upon the photographs: little polaroids tacked to the wall before him, and just what they could all mean.

And to the rest of the world, it was the same photo a hundred times over, but to him, it was the world.

And perhaps it was still the same photo a hundred times over, but Gerard didn't see how that should give it any less meaning, after all, what other scene could possibly mean so much as to be photographed in such excess, and to still intrigue him everyday?

Gerard glanced to his feet, and the paper, and the eraser, and the fuck up of a line, and knew instantly that he could never even consider recreating the wonder of the ocean in pencil, and he just stood there, in shock, or something, frozen, perhaps.

Until the door slammed for a forth time that was.

And this time, Gerard pulled his headphones away from him, placing his iPod down on the desk before him, his eyes moving from photo to photo with intense focus and precision as the voices seemed to echo around his head in the background.

His mother was 'overreacting' again, as his father had and  _would_  put it; Gerard wondered if his father would ever stop saying that: repeating words and phrases over and over until they meant nothing - he doubted he would.

His mother was overreacting, and Mikey was yelling, at the top of their voice too, and Mr Way was pissed off, but Gerard wasn't quite sure as to who he was pissed off with, and Gerard wasn't sure if he even wanted to know, because this wasn't his argument, and he was in his room, and he was still listening to music, as far as they knew, but he wasn't.

"Well I'm so  _fucking_  sorry that I had to be born."

Gerard couldn't ignore it any longer, full on listening in, his hands shaking a little as the argument moved to the hallway outside his bedroom: Mikey continuing to scream at their mother, and Mrs Way continuing to 'overreact', and Gerard reckoned Mr Way had given up by now, and he wasn't quite sure what he thought of that.

He wasn't even sure if he was supposed to have an opinion on argument revolving around his younger sibling, but in the same way, he wasn't even sure if he could stop himself.

"For god's sake, Michael, stop blowing things out of proportion, will you?"

Gerard ran a hand back through his hair as he heard his mother call them that again, and wondered if he'd perhaps come to hate it as much as Mikey had. Perhaps it was just the notion of it being  _wrong_  now: one coin slightly leaning out in a stack, but one he was unable to fix  _ever_  - it irked him, as things often did, and  _she_  let them.

She was good at it too.

"My name... is fucking  _Mikey_!"

Mikey had resorted to using some variation of the word 'fuck' in their every sentence now, and Gerard could appreciate the need for emphasis, but the venom behind the word, and the tone at which it was yelled, made him somewhat unplaceably uncomfortable: like he was too hot or too cold, and every part of his body ached and yearned to be stretch in ways impossible.

But it was just a word.

And that was what it would always be.

And Gerard knew that, but it made so little difference at all.

"I'm sorry, young man, do you really want me to get out your birth certificate and show you what's written there?"

Gerard knew his and Mikey's birth certificates were kept in the attic, and Mrs Way daren’t venture up there, because it was cold and dark and full of spiders, and he wondered if his father had retreated to the garden yet, to weed the empty soil patches, and to water the drainpipes, just for the need to look like he was busy with something.

Gerard was like that sometimes too.

"Why the  _fuck_  do you think it's your business to decide my life for me? To decide what I want to be called? To decide what gender I am? To decide who I want to be? Why the  _fuck_  could you possibly think that's okay?"

Mikey's voice grew louder now, and Gerard still hadn't moved, and the paper lay still on the floor, but he couldn't move now, with the shouting so loud, and his whole body on edge, and his ears ringing, as the inside of his mouth grew dry like a desert.

"I'm your mother! It's my  _job_  to name you, don't be ridiculous! And so ungrateful for what I've given you - a house, a life, a family, support, love-"

"Well, good for you because I don't fucking  _want_  it!" And Gerard winced aloud as Mikey grabbed their jacket from the coat hanger, creaking against the wall, as Mikey pulled at it with such force.

"Don't you  _dare_!"

And a slam of the door, footsteps against gravel, wind and rain outside.

And little but silence on the other side of the painted white front door, as Gerard continued to listen until the silence was finally broken with the gentle sobs of his mother, and the meaningless muttering of his father after he'd gone back inside, perhaps after noticing Mikey storm out.

With the hushed conversation between his parents fading away, Gerard looked down at the piece, placing it back on his desk, and staring at the line.

The rigid line: the fuck up line, the mistake.

He smiled at it, drawing one similar beside it, so it didn't feel quite so alone.

And Gerard sat there for at least an hour, drawing a million more.

But no matter how many fuck up lines he drew, he could never bring Mikey back, because even if the line wasn't alone anymore, he knew Mikey was.

-

"Thanks." They'd thanked Frank at least seven million times by now, and this was little more than a simple gesture of kindness and a coffee.

It confused Frank, just a little, but he knew better than to pry into it, and remained sipping his coffee as he met their gaze and let a realisation hit him. "We don't know each other's names, and I bought you a coffee and I don't even know your name..." His lips turned up into an awkward kind of smile. "I'm Frank, how about you?"

"I don't really know what my name is anymore." They let out a sigh, looking away from Frank as they did so.

"What do you mean?" Frank found himself asking before common sense jumped in front of the bullet for him. "You don't have to say anything of course, but... you know... I just want to listen and help the best I can."

"My parents won't accept my gender identity and what name I want to be called, and quite honestly it's like they've turned that against me too, and I don't even know if I want to hear it anymore..." They looked down into their coffee, "I'm non-binary by the way... that's like... they/them pronouns, so like 'they like cats, or I like them, or I like their cat', it's just... I'm gender neutral, I don't really fit under male or female, this is the middle ground, I guess."

"So, do you like cats?" Frank asked what was of course the most important question here.

"I do like cats." They grinned, "that's so weird though, like cat can be a name... I'm just thinking about cats and names at the same time because I feel weird not introducing myself as anything, I just-"

"I could call you Cat?" Frank asked, his face turning up into a smile.

"That's ridiculous, I'm not... Kat with a 'K', though... I kind of like that actually, now you think of it..." They trailed off, thinking it over for a moment, "you know what? Try that, let's see if that works, even if just for now."

"Okay, sure thing, Kat." Frank smiled, stirring his coffee, just happy to see them smile, if he was honest, because for the first time he felt like he'd really done something good.

"We've said Kat so many times now it sounds weird." They exclaimed, shaking their head in disbelief.

"You can change your mind again if you want-"

"No, it's fine, I kind of like this, you know?" They smiled oddly: gaze fixated elsewhere, and Frank nodded in agreement.

"Were you up there because of your parents and that whole thing?" Frank asked, the two having sat in a complacent silence for the past few minutes, but still, it felt just as good for words to break it.

"Yeah, I guess, something like that, I just... my  _head..._  it's messed up, and my parents have been weird about everything ever since I told them about my gender, and we had another argument today and god I can't even remember what started it, but my mother ending up screaming at me and I just stormed out, and fuck, I don't know if I can even go back, but I have to, for Gerard more than anything... he's my brother... I feel like he needs me there in some way, and I do worry about him a lot, but I need space I guess, I just don't know what to do with myself because I don't want to face my parents again."

"Parents shouldn't be parents if they're not ready for their kid to turn out as trans or gay or something..." Frank let out a sigh, leaning back in his chair, "my mum doesn't know I'm gay... I don't know if she'll ever know... I mean, it's  _not_  her business, is it?"

"Not at all, like my gender isn't my fucking mother's business and today she even had the fucking cheek to say it was, I just... I really don't want to deal with her, I really don't..." Kat shook their head, running a hand back through their hair, and perhaps pulling out half a dozen strands as they did so.

"I could ask my mum if you could stay at mine for the night... if that's okay, of course...?" Frank trailed off, blushing a little as he did so.

"That'd be actually amazing,  _thank you_... I... really can't face them, not tonight at least."

It wasn't like Frank was short of close friends, but despite having only met them about an hour prior, this was the only one that seemed to  _mean_  anything, in an odd sort of way, like in the grand scheme of things, that this coffee and this rainstorm would mean so much more than ever thought possible.

-

 


	4. Thursday, October 4th

Ever since he was fourteen, Frank has just had this idea in his head that life is utterly meaningless, and one day everything he knows will just fade away into nothingness, and maybe he wanted to be prepared for that, but after these years, he knew that he could never be prepared for that, and he knew everyday that he'd wake up with an ache in his chest as he buried a thought or two that had resurfaced from the depths of hell he called his subconscious at something like half two in the morning, but he'd never quite expected  _this_.

This unshakeable hopelessness in the form of an anonymous letter detailing too much and too little at the same time; he wanted to know more to know everything, and now not just to rid his stomach of that awful sinking feeling every stomach, when he awoke to early, and with ears red and raw, and a world outside: a sunrise outside, and Daisy sleeping at the end of his bed, and silence and loneliness and the empty world.

But it's not like that come October fourth, because Kat's an early riser, and a silent one at that, and the two share the oddest look, of shaken, half tear stained gazes and words never uttered, because they both know more than they're willing to admit it.

And it's too early, and Frank's too scared, and his hands have already made it half way to the drawer where the letter was hidden, and Kat's lips have every question on them, and Frank's absolutely terrified of every single one.

He's scared; he's scared of Kat, he's scared of everything, he's scared of the person who wrote the letter, he's scared of the letter himself, he's scared of thunderstorms, he's scared of the rain, he's scared of early mornings, he's scared of sleeping in too late, he's scared of himself, he's scared of what will become of him, and most of all he's scared of November 1st.

And he knew that at least he's not alone, because there was someone else out there in this town that felt the same way, someone else that the dreaded date meant so much too; someone Frank wanted to know, someone Frank already did, but not quite.

Frank knew he couldn't just go back to sleep, especially with Kat looking at him like they were: all wide eyes and awkward looks, and he shouldn't say anything at all, but Frank did, because Frank's an idiot, and he wore that title like a crown, "why are you looking at me like that?"

Kat let out a sigh, pushing their hair out of their face, "you talk in your sleep; you have some fucked up dreams."

"I... uhh... what kind of fucked up... I?" His face flushed a bright shade of red, and he was pretty damn sure he didn't have a boner, but-

"Dark, just... twisted, I guess... from what I heard anyway... do you really not remember a thing?"

Frank shook his head, uttering a simple and somewhat flustered, "no."

"It's probably better you don't." Kat let out a sigh, "I think it's an okay time to get up now anyway, just take twice as long in the shower and forget about it." And Frank tried to, as he stumbled to his feet, but the tone in Kat's voice ensured that he couldn't shake it.

And he knew that at some point, the dream would come to him, and everything would change, and with Frank's luck, for the worse.

-

Kat was good at pretending: that everything was okay, that they'd apologise to their parents, that they'd even come back home, that they'd do it for Gerard, that they'd call Pete back, that they wouldn't judge Frank for what he said in his sleep.

Kat was perhaps even better at lying, and it showed, because they told the world that they were fine, and they told themself that they'd go back home and make things right, and they'd told Pete that they'd sort things between them too, and of course, they'd lied to Frank earlier like it was little more than routine, and they'd let Frank make his way to school, with some nonsensical promise about going home first and that maybe they'd see each other there, but maybe there.

Kat would do none of those things, and they reinforced that reality, as they made their way to the beachfront, caring little for the ocean, but for the privacy the rocks gave them, as threw themself down behind one, with their back pressed up against it, and within moments, a cigarette at their lips.

And that was that, they were elsewhere, and they'd only broken a minimal amount of promises to achieve such tranquillity, which, of course, in their mind was little short of an achievement.

Though, they weren't a  _bad_  person and they'd argue that case to their deathbed, they were just perhaps misunderstood, or perhaps just slightly immoral in some cases, better off alone, all that bullshit; they just knew they could keep themself going like this, with lies to their family and friends, and even themself.

Because they cared little for what people thought of them, just how they managed to get through the day, and that was perhaps the sole thing that they were deadset upon: making it through okay.

And they would, of course, because they didn't  _need_  to see their parents again, or for Frank to think well of them, or for Gerard not to breakdown and miss them, or for Pete... just to see Pete again, but they  _did_ , and perhaps it took Kat too long entirely to realise that.

They wondered if Pete would be in school right now, because Pete would always be their first call even if they could never quite bring themself to call back. Pete was just...  _Pete_ , and they had  _something_ , and there wasn't quite a word for it, but Pete would still be calling them Mikey, and they had to rectify that at least.

So armed with a lacklustre excuse, Kat dialled his number, and held the cigarette loosely in their left hand as they held their cellphone up to their ear: the sounds of the tide and the coast, and the world, seeming to drown out around them as the monotonous beeps of dial tones seemed to suck the soul of everything in, as hearts stopped, and consciences halted to let anxiety take reign.

And Kat would succumb to this, and if only this, then they certainly made a show of it, because they'd make themself out as a strong person, as an independent person, who didn't need love from their parents, and didn't need to make sure their brother was okay, and didn't need friends, and didn't need Pete, but they  _did_ , and it all became so fucking apparent behind the rocks, alone with the early morning low tide and one hell of an excuse of a phone call.

"Mikey?" Pete was almost a little startled to find them attempting to make any sort of contact with him, and he had already half convinced himself that was some sort of accident, or prank, or cruel joke, or  _something_ , despite the fact that Kat wasn't much of a cruel person.

"Yeah..." They let out a sigh: breath almost forced, "it's... Kat now, by the way?"

"What?" Pete asked, confusion evident in his tone.

"My name." Kat clarified with yet another sigh, "my name is Kat now. It's recent, I'm just letting you know... I just don't... I don't like Mikey anymore... it feels too connected to Michael and who people want me to be, and I just want to get away from that bullshit: I want to get away from it all."

"Isn't Kat a girl's name?"

"Names don't have fucking gender, Pete, gender's fucking bullshit, I tell you, okay?" They shook their head in disbelief. "Gender neutral." They repeated, perhaps as a reminder to Pete, perhaps as a reminder to the world, "and names are just fucking words, fucking collections of letters,  _sounds_ , they're like noises we use to refer to people. There's no such fucking thing as boy noises and girl noises."

"I'm sorry, I know, I just..." Pete groaned a little, "you're pissed at me now, and you're always pissed at me, but more so now, and I was hoping we'd get somewhere, because you can't keep ignoring me, Kat, you really can't."

"I can, but I’m not pissed at you, Pete." They added, and with conviction too. "I'm pissed at myself, more than anything, and my parents, too, but that's a given, I hate this town-"

"Calm down, I wasn't aware I was on the phone to a pop punk band here-"

"Fuck off." Kat rolled their eyes, taking a drag of their cigarette as they let the world around them sink in, "I just need to get out of here, out of this headspace, out of this peer group, this family, because it gives me such bad thoughts, such a destructive mentality and I care about you, Pete, of course I do, things are just difficult, and you know that, and I just don't want to get you into any more trouble."

"And you're doing that by getting yourself into trouble? Because you should be at school right now, and I heard you didn't come home last night-"

"That's none of your fucking business, Pete." Kat paused, just taking a moment, because Pete knew them well enough to know that they didn't mean it, "I had one fucking hell of an argument with parents yesterday: about gender and my name and it was nasty, and I just stormed out, and I stayed with this guy overnight, and he wasn't a creep or some cannibal or something, calm down, he's like our age, it's all fine, but I haven't gone back yet, and I really don't want to, you know? They didn't want to call me Mikey, getting them to call me Kat will be impossible."

"Gerard will do it, though, Gerard will do anything you tell him to, and I don't mean that in a bad way, but literally, he'd probably step right off a cliff and into the middle of the ocean if you asked him to."

"Can we not talk about Gerard walking off a cliff, I'm worried about him as it is."

"I know." And silence, because Pete did, because he knew so much, he knew  _too_  much.

"Can I stay at yours tonight?" Kat asked, their voice barely a whisper.

"Yes, but don't tell me it's because you love me again or some bullshit, tell me like we know it is - because you're scared of facing the world."

"Of course I'm scared, I  _know_  I'm scared, but don't tell anyone."

"I wouldn't dream of it. See you, Kat."

-

In Gerard's head, he sees the end of all things; he sees the water growing taller and the waves growing into beings, human, but so  _not_  human, but they're human enough to crawl upon land, and their not human enough to kill another, and the end of all things is salt water lungs and words so beautifully strewn, but utterly nonsensical in nature, because no one needs  _this_ , even he doesn't need this, but of course, Gerard likes to think he does.

Gerard needs  _something_ , he just doesn't know what, and at one point down the line, he figured that this may as well do.

The ocean, this affliction, and what happens after death, because one day there will be a world without Gerard Way, and knowing that seemed to wear him away a little, and in the most odd kinds of ways, because he  _wanted_  to die, after all, this was  _his_  decision, but he was scared of what he couldn't imagine and what would come the morning of November 2nd, and the unlikelihood that he'd live to see it.

He finally grew the guts to face his reflection in the mirror: all dark strands of greasy hair, skin as pale as the white bathroom wall behind him, and a revolting shade of red rimming his eyes, fading out into the darker, bruising tones of his eye bags, and the other marks upon his body and their own private mysteries.

He needed to get his head out of there: out of the future, out of November 2nd, because the date was October 4th, and he had a long way to go yet; he this month, and he had himself to face in this empty house,  _alone_.

Because although his parents  _were_  here, that had never really meant much to anyone or anything, and perhaps Mikey, well,  _Kat_ , as Gerard didn't quite yet know them to be, had shown them that.

Gerard wondered if it hurt, he wondered if he wanted it to, because he was sure as fucking hell itself that  _he_  was hurting, and it wasn't fair if they got off okay, because they didn’t deserve that, and they  _never_  fucking would.

And Gerard wasn't a spiteful person, just a delicate one.

And he knew he'd made the right decision in turning away from his reflection and the reality as he stumbled into the living room, and yearned for the ocean outside, and his mother had instructed very specifically that he stayed inside, even in his room, until she got back.

His mother had insisted many other things to.

Most of them wrong.

His mother had insisted that Kat was a boy, his mother had insisted that he was sick, his mother had insisted that his father was useless, his mother had insisted that she loved Kat, his mother had insisted that she'd only tried to do her best for them.

Gerard knew better.

Gerard knew better than to listen to her.

Gerard wasn't a vengeful person, just not a stupid one.

And his whole body shook as he grabbed his coat, and locked the front door behind him, as he stumbled down to the beachfront, and the ocean waves, and the high tide, and suddenly it seemed like the world had stopped for him out there on the sands.

And it wasn't even much of a beautiful beach, not that Gerard much valued the typical beautiful in anything - it was the ocean and it served its purpose, as did the sky, and the horizon where it met the sea, and the late afternoon sunset, and the sinking feeling in Gerard's stomach: in time with the movements of the tides.

It was odd, but  _everything_  was odd, and Gerard knew that by now.

He'd discarded his sneakers half way down the beach; he didn’t particularly care much for this pair - his mother had bought them and they were a size too big on the pretence that he'd grow into them, but that was  _bullshit_ , and it would  _always_  be.

Gerard hadn't expected or perhaps even  _wanted_  to see his sibling sat behind a rock with a cigarette in their mouth, and was here in search of solitude and the comforts of the open ocean and the burning feeling in the back of his throat as he coughed up salt water, but beside him was none other than  _Kat_ , or Mikey, still in Gerard's mind.

"Gerard?" Kat exclaimed, perhaps with a little too much surprise in consideration of the location and their brother's tendencies. "Well, it wasn't like I could spend the whole day here and not even just catch a glimpse of you at one point..." They rolled their eyes, pulling the cigarette away from their lips and gesturing for Gerard to sit down beside them.

"Mikey-" Gerard began, sitting beside Kat.

"It's Kat now, or at least, I guess so... I'm fine, I just... I don't want to use Mikey anymore...  _she's_  ruined that for me, but this is something different, and maybe I feel just a little more comfortable in my own head today, even if I haven't moved in hours, and even if I'm down to my last cigarette: I told myself I'd get over myself and go and met Pete after this, but I still don't feel ready-  _Gerard_ ," Kat exclaimed, their eyes falling upon Gerard's  _feet._ "Where the hell are your shoes?"

"I ditched them like ten metres down the beach... I don't like them... they're  _wrong_ , they're the wrong shoes, they're just... just  _wrong_... and I-"

"The ones mum bought?" Kat raised an eyebrow. "A size too big?" Gerard nodded. "Thought so. You've still got shoes at home though? Good shoes that are okay?" Gerard nodded again. "They'll laugh at you if you walk around with no shoes on, Gerard."

"I know." He let out a sigh, "they laugh at me whatever I do. I've stopped listening now, anyway."

"That's good - it's all bullshit anyway." Kat finished their cigarette, laying back against the rock. "I should go and see Pete now, shouldn't I? And you should walk home before people notice your shoes-"

"What are you seeing Pete about?"

"Doesn't matter..." Kat shrugged it off, getting to their feet, and holding out a hand for Gerard, who followed suit.

"Does it not?" Gerard looked on in concern, "I think it matters."

"That's a polite way of me saying that it's private and I don't want to tell you, Gee." Kat let out a gentle laughter, making sure Gerard caught their smile. "Come on, get home, it's gonna get late."

"And what about you?"

"I'll come home tomorrow, after I see Pete, I  _promise_."

"Promise." Gerard repeated with a small smile.

-

Pete was all impatience and nerves, and he'd always be as such, and he'd always know Kat well enough to know that they wouldn't think any much less of him if he stood out and waited for them on his porch, with his hands shaking a little, and the stupidest shirt he owned on, perhaps just to make Kat smile.

Pete didn't quite know what he was doing with his life, not anymore at least, or in particular what he was doing with Kat Way, and why they'd started talking to him again all of a sudden, because it never was as simple as an 'I miss you' with Kat, and perhaps Pete had learned that the hard way.

But he'd say he was okay now, despite the porch and the shirt, and the pack of beer at his feet, because Kat  _would_  drink, and perhaps it would make things easier, perhaps it wouldn't - nothing could be predicated or controlled with them, and Pete did often wonder what he was even attempting to get out of this.

But the reality hurt more, because all in all, he honestly just cared about them, and what they had to say, and what they would never say, and whether they'd come home or not, whether they'd leave this town or not, whether they'd even turn up or not.

What kind of mood they could possibly be in.

Of course, Pete had never once thought that Kat was in fact just as nervous as he was, because he'd painted this picture of them in his head, and a pedestal to go with it, because Kat never took off their leather jacket, and they looked like a sleep deprived pile of punk rock shit everyday, but still that was beautiful.

Pete had been the one to fuck it all up, of course, because people couldn't know, and people would never know, besides Pete's mother, of course, who wasn't here anymore, and Kat had reassured Pete that it was nothing to do with the fact that she'd caught the two of them: Kat with their mouth around Pete's cock.

But it had  _everything_  to do with that, and the reality of that was unavoidable.

Because perhaps Kat had ruined Pete's life, but Pete still cared about them, deeply too, despite the whole world.

"Hey..." The voice: shaky and rough with nicotine, yet instantly recognisable, caught Pete just a little by surprise, and he nearly had a heart attack as his gaze fell upon Kat, because he hadn't adjusted his fringe, not once in the past three minutes, and for his emo reputation, this was of course a true tragedy.

"H-hey... h-how are you?" Pete stuttered out, running his fingers through his fringe awkwardly as his cheeks flushed the worst shade of red in the goddamn world, and Kat tried their best not to smile, even  _slightly_.

"I'm... I'm  _good_." Kat swallowed and forcefully so, and that wasn't the kind of swallowing the two were used to, but nothing in the nature of swallowing, or anything of the like at all had occurred for months now, and neither was as content with the aforementioned as they pretended to be.

"Good?" Pete repeated, the words lodging in his throat. "I'm g-good too, I guess- I have beer," he gestured to his feet, "because you always wanna get drunk around me now, don't you? I don't take it personally, I get drunk with you, so it's fine, but the house is empty tonight, so we don't have to go down to the beach, unless you want to- I mean, you like it there, don't you?"

"Yeah, I do." Kat let a small smile flash over their lips for even just a brief moment, "but I reckon I've spent the whole day there, and I doubt I can even remember what your bedroom looks like... or  _house_ , bedroom was perhaps the wrong word- it had connotations, and I'm... I'm... we're not gonna do anything tonight, if that's okay? And don't let me change my mind, because I have enough shit in my head right now- not that you're  _shit_ , you're... beautiful, and great in bed and at sucking cock-"

"Kat, shut up, you idiot," Pete rolled his eyes and handed them a beer, "I understand."

"I wish you were my parents." They let out an awkward laugh, "because if I need anyone to understand right now, it's them."

"I know, but you  _have_  to go home, Kat, eventually, anyway."

"I know." They nodded, biting their lip.

"And is this the 'I know, I'm sorry', or the 'I know I'll never do that'?"

And Kat met Pete straight in the eye and uttered, "the latter."

"You can't stay with me forever-"

"You want me to-"

" _Kat_ -"

"Don't lie to me."

"We haven't spoken in months, you can't just,  _do this_ , you-"

"I'm not doing anything."

"I know, and I think that's the problem."

-


	5. Friday, October 5th

Kat had always had an awful habit of waking up at stupid times in the morning, and in consequence, always being the first awake in the morning, which they supposed was okay at 'home', when they had the extra hour or so to themselves, to sneak out and experience the world in peace and the freedom of their own company, but here, in Pete's bedroom, on a Friday morning, Kat was just awake, awkward, and alone.

They glanced at the sleeping boy in the bed beside them, and wondered what was to become of the events that had happened in the very early hours of the morning, with only a night light illuminating the room that was possibly even smaller than Pete himself, and whispered voices: hushed tones, like every movement, every sound was a secret, but of course, it  _had_  to be that way, and Kat was in no position to resent that.

Kat was in no position to resent anything; they owed everyone too much, and pushed away deadlines and made up excuses, and they knew in their heart that deep down, they weren't going to make it home today either.

They worried for Gerard, of course, and how he could possibly react to them breaking their promise, and what their parents would say, and what Pete would say, when Kat was still here come five pm, as opposed to the hell that called itself five am that Kat sat on the end of Pete's bed in currently.

Perhaps they'd just have to find another bed: another house, another boy, because on Wednesday it had been Frank and the dream that Kat had been unsuccessful in pushing to the back of their mind, and yesterday it was Pete and the history they couldn't quite bury, and the whispered secrets that the bedroom walls were destined to carry the burden of forever; Kat hated this house, they hated this room, but they could never quite bring themself to hate the boy that lay still asleep in it.

_Fuck_.

They had to go before Pete woke up, because every conversation from now on would be one they screamed and pleaded to avoid, because Pete, unlike Kat, had the guts to face up to consequence, and what had happened last night, whereas the taller of the two, could only managed a note scrawled on a scrap of paper, before making their way out of Pete's bedroom window, and scraping their knee on the brickwork as they did so.

They reckoned they deserved it though, because they couldn't keep living like a drifter, like a runaway: constantly running from consequence and responsibility, and more importantly, the people they loved, and the people that loved them, but they  _would._

And even from that moment, Friday was just about finding another bed to stay the night in, another innocent kid to listen to their sorrows, someone else to forget about come the following morning; Kat was all kinds of cruel, and they were well aware, and perhaps even more cruel in their complacency.

Because they saw no point in self improvement, and a change in morality; they only saw tonight and tomorrow morning, and life made into a game, and a future they couldn't quite picture in their mind, but despite this all, a brother they had to see, and an empty beach, and a house they'd rather die than wander into.

The beach and the ocean had been Kat's last resort, because Gerard was certainly a frequent visitor, even in the early hours of the morning, but it seemed like fate just wasn't on Kat's side today, and they couldn't just brush it off, because despite it all, they  _needed_  to see Gerard, to apologise, because Gerard Way was perhaps the one goddamn person on this earth that deserved kindness.

Kat was biased, of course, biased and scared, and soon to make their way out of the street their parents' house was situated upon, and as they found themself a park bench a few blocks away, and a shop both open at this hour, and with a cashier too sleep deprived to realise they were selling cigarettes to a sixteen year old.

And it was with the cheap, illegally obtained cigarettes, and the oncoming dawn, that Kat came to the horrific conclusion that they might actually have to go into school today.

School was one step up from home, and that said a lot, and there they could talk to Gerard without the obstacle that was their parents, and they could make a game out of avoiding Pete, and they could ease their conscience a little, and perhaps even find Frank from Wednesday night and try to practice looking him in the eye and not thinking about the dream, or what Kat had overheard of it, anyway.

Kat probably should have mentioned it to him, but they were of course  _scared_ , because this wasn't anything anyone wanted to talk about, but in his dream, Frank's words had detailed something along the lines of setting himself on fire, and a great deal of self loathing that didn't seem to be apparent when he was awake, but perhaps he was a good liar, or perhaps it was just one of those odd dreams, or perhaps Kat had simply made it up themself, but whatever the truth was, it didn't matter, because hell, they might not even see Frank again, let alone confront him about it.

And just how wrong they were, as within four minutes, the other side of the bench was filled by a boy with a dog, the dog yapping at Kat, and generally seeming to be entirely too excited by her own existence.

"Kat?" Frank began, meeting the eyes of the person on the bench beside him.

"Mmm..." Kat let out a sigh, not exactly thrilled to have seen Frank again, and not exactly thrilled to have the idea of confrontation lingering at the front of their mind, just  _begging_  to be realised, and just  _begging_  to ruin Kat's life.

"You weren't at school yesterday, what's happened? I'm worried about you, you know?" Frank's eyes were filled with an odd panic that set Kat just a little off guard, "where did you even go?"

"I went to the beach... I just sat there for  _hours_ , and smoked, I smoked a whole packet of cigarettes, and the whole world seemed to fade away around me, and then... then I went to my friend's house, well... boyfriend...  _ex-boyfriend_ , I don't really know anymore... it's complicated, I guess."

"Are you okay, though?" Frank asked, his voice perhaps about to burst with the excess of sincerity it contained.

"I'm fine." Kat shrugged it off, "I'm coming to school today."

"Really?" Frank was unconvinced, but who could blame him?

"Yeah..." They smiled, although it was perhaps more of a grimace, "I'll even walk with you. That's a promise."

"Okay." Frank returned the smile, "I need to take Daisy," he gestured to the dog that had sort of fallen asleep against Kat's leg, "home and- you can walk her home with me, if you want?"

"Yeah, that's... that'd be  _good_." They muttered, as they deleted the text message they'd just received from Pete and turned their cellphone off completely.

-

Pete hadn't expected much else of Kat than an empty bed and little in the way of an explanation, but he had for a brief moment last night, gotten his hopes up; the night having fooled him that perhaps it would be different this time, but no, the morning proved as the slap to the face from common sense, because Kat clearly wasn't going to act like a rational human being, especially not regarding whatever the fuck they had, because it certainly wasn't a relationship, but there was no denying that it was  _something_ ; even Kat couldn't get out of that one.

Pete reckoned he should stop thinking about them, at least, because he'd been doing pretty good when it came to forgetting up until last night, only thinking about them upon occasion, and mostly when conversation flew to them, or someone had mentioned the name 'Mikey', but it seemed like Kat had just taken Pete's sanity, pulled it straight from his head, and smashed it on the floor right in front of his very eyes, and late last night, amidst fucking  _feelings_  and teenage idiocy, Pete had sat by and watched, letting them.

It wasn't that he was pathetic, or at least, he was really trying his best to convince himself otherwise, it was just that Kat needed to get a fucking  _grip_  on reality, because they simply couldn't live like this - there was no way around that, but know them, they'd make their own motherfucking way, despite whatever kind consequences it would bring, and no matter who got hurt, as they already proved with the piece of shit they'd dared to call a note left on Pete's bedside table.

He wondered if they were genuinely just heartless sometimes; he knew that had it bad, of course he did, it wasn't like they ever shut up about themself and their own problems, was it? But Pete couldn't help but ask Kat to think about people other than themself for like four and a half seconds a day.

"Pete, you look like you want me to punch you in the face." Lindsey told it to him straight, that perhaps being the only straight thing she was even vaguely capable of accomplishing, but no one knew that yet, because Lindsey Ballato, yes  _total_  heterosexual, like she didn't even know what a lesbian  _was_.

"I kind of do." He groaned, turning to face her with the same 'punch me in the face' look. The two were sat in what Pete was sure was  _either_  maths or chemistry, and he was totally fucked if the teacher asked him a question, because from the zombie girl with pink pigtails and a lip ring that Lindsey had been doodling in the back of her textbook, it didn't look like she'd be much help in whispering him the answers.

"Do elaborate." Lindsey continued, adding more shades of pink to the girl's hair as they spoke, wondering half-heartedly if Pete was going to go on for hours, ensuring that she'd ever regretted asking, but from the distant look in his eyes, she found herself doubting the aforementioned immensely.

"It's just... just this  _friend_ , well, I don't think we're really  _friends_  anymore, like... I kind of think I hate them, but I kind of don't-... they're just being a real fucking asshole lately, and I really... it's just  _bothering_  me, you know?"

Lindsey didn't know. But she did know better than to bother with people like Kat Way, and that was probably why she was staring at him with widened, disbelieving eyes. "Why do you keep putting so much emphasis on the word 'friend'?" She asked, all too nonchalantly, before continuing to shade around the face of the zombie girl.

"I'm not!" Pete protested: all red cheeks, and plain  _bullshit_.

Lindsey narrowed her eyes, before continuing with a, "girlfriend or boyfriend?" that had several no homo alarm bells going off in Pete's head.

"Neither." And he wasn't even  _lying_ , god thank Kat for being non-binary.

"Whatever you say." She let out a sigh, "if they're being a bitch to you, then just tell them you think that, and if they don't change or apologise or whatever, then just ditch them - they're not worth your time."

"But what if they  _are_  worth my time."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't think I could physically manage to forget about them." Pete admitted, his cheeks flushed, ensuring that when it came to embarrassing himself, he most certainly went all out.

"Right, so what... they're like a  _best_  friend?" Lindsey shook her head, growing even more disbelieving by the second.

"Old friend, I guess... we have a lot of history, and I think they're just using me and ignoring me, but they are going through a lot of shit, and I don't want to be an asshole, but they're being an asshole, and maybe it's better if we just don't talk, but I don't think I'll ever have the self control to decline the call when they call me."

"Long story short: you're fucked." Lindsey leaned back in her seat, "you either confront them, or you let them walk all over you for the rest of your sorry existence, and I will not be here to give you half-assed advice forever, Pete, so take it while I am: I strongly recommend the first one."

"Thank you?" Pete raised his eyebrows: confused as to whether Lindsey had just helped him or downright insulted him, but he reckoned that was just Lindsey, and that was indeed irrelevant to the  _very_  relevant issue that no matter how much he even  _wanted_  to, he doubted he'd ever have it in him to 'confront' Kat, let alone be angry to their face, or control himself, or even  _think_  about controlling them, because the notion was just ridiculous.

Or perhaps it was Pete himself that was just ridiculous.

And perhaps his ego just couldn't bear to answer that question, because deep down, the whole  _world_  knew what the answer was.

-

Gerard had stayed up all night waiting.

Waiting for something: a something that had turned out to be nothing, and he was even angry at him for expecting more: for expecting something at all.

Because it was only then that he began to realise that Kat would never come home, and that he was indeed ridiculous to ever assume otherwise, because that was how it was always going to be, and it wasn't his fault, it was just Kat, and the way they were, and the way they always would be.

Perhaps he could pin the blame on his parents, but it did little for him, as did the world, as did school, and the endless torture of the day in and day out routine that he clung to desperately, because Gerard needed something,  _anything_ , even if it was hell.

School was just...  _school_ : words and people that went straight through his head, things that would never matter: a whole ordeal he reckoned he wouldn't live long enough to need, because there was still that date lingering at the back of his mind, and the note: a draft, a scrap, a mistake, that he'd sent to the trashcan in the boys' toilets, that unbeknownst to his knowledge, had never made it to its intended destination.

School was just time to waste, and words to hear and soon forget, and people to notice, but people to soon ignore, because it didn't matter, not in the slightest, and Gerard felt distant, disconnected as he sat somewhere closest to the window, with his eyes fixated on the world outside this one, and the struggle in his mind to find the right words to scrawl upon lined paper in his favourite blue ink.

Because it was difficult, because it was final, and this would be important, to some degree; this would be what was left of him, and this would be what he was forevermore, and Gerard was unprepared for that, but the date was already set in his mind, in  _stone_ : it was less of a desire, and more of an unquestioned fact - it just  _would_  happen, and that was that: a date on the calendar, something to look forward to perhaps.

Gerard didn't want to face November, he didn’t want to face another day, but he needed a date: he needed a certain  _thing_  to pour his emotions into, somewhere to contain himself, some sort of relief, and some sort of secret to hold to his chest, because this felt like the only thing that would ever make him the least bit important, because now, he wasn't just Gerard Way, he was Gerard Way: the boy who was going to die on November 1st.

There was also the horror that came with the notion of letting death surprise you; Gerard despised it - he needed control this, and he needed to know, he needed this, in a weird way, because Gerard wasn't scared of dying, or even being alive, he was just scared of living, and every wasted moment without value, because this brought meaning, even in the most macabre ways - it was how he wanted to go, with the water, drowning, it was  _planned_ , and it was all going to be okay.

And he'd explain this all to Kat who would never come home in a letter, that his parents would never read, because Kat was the only one who would need to know the details and the workings of his head, and Kat was the only one he'd ever even consider trusting with it, because the rest of the world deserved little more than the newspaper article: a small town, he was certain he'd make front page news.

He didn't quite know what to make of that; he just hoped that they didn't misgender Kat when detailing the family of the boy whose body lay at the bottom of the lake.

And it was like that, that Gerard had found himself swept up in his own world, even to the extent that he hadn't quite realised that the English classroom around him was in fact empty, and that he had in fact paid so little attention to the world around him: the departure of thirty odd people from the room had passed him by entirely.

He only came to notice the aforementioned as the teacher sat down beside him: perplexed, more than anything, and somewhat apprehensive in his manner. Gerard noted that he didn’t even know this guy's name; he was a supply, though, their original teacher was on maternity leave, and the man before him with shoulder length dark hair, blue eyes, and a small smile, was her replacement.

"Everyone else has left: you can go." The man's words were awkward: nervous perhaps, in nature, but quiet and hushed in a manner that contrasted the tone Gerard was accustomed to teacher's using, and he instantly liked this man a whole lot more.

"I... I know." Gerard stuttered out, turning to meet his teacher's gaze, "I.. I didn't notice at first, I wasn't asleep, I just-... I don't know, actually, I was just... in my own world, I guess... I'm sorry-"

"It's fine, I'm not going to tell you off." The man smiled, "you're Gerard Way, aren't you?" He nodded in response, "do you want to go? Or can I talk to you a moment?"

"I don't really have anywhere  _to_  go... I mean, it's break, I don't exactly have an abundance of friends, and I'm pretty sure Kat's not here today, and I'm pretty sure that I don't want to see them either."

"Girlfriend?" He raised an eyebrow.

Gerard blushed shaking his head, "sibling. They're my sibling."

"If you don't mind me saying, you look, you look sad, more than  _sad_ : you have this hopeless kind of glassy look in your eyes, like there's no one inside that head of yours, or like what is inside is cowering away in the corner, in fear of the outside world."

"I... I..." Gerard stuttered out, "I don't I-"

"I'm sorry, you don't have to say anything, I just want to make sure that you're okay, Gerard. Look, feel free to speak to me whenever, at lunchtime or whatever, I mean, I'm not your  _actual_  teacher, but I'm still a teacher, and I'm worried about you."

"I'm okay... you don't need to be worried about me-" Gerard blushed, getting to his feet with an excess of anxiety apparent in his every moment and word.

"I'm just doing my job, Gerard."

"T-thank you... Mr-... Mr-..." Gerard's eyes widened as he came to remember that he was unaware of the man's name.

"Mr McCracken."

-

 


	6. Saturday, October 6th

If Gerard could have seen this, perhaps he happened wanted Kat to come home anymore, but there was of course nothing he could do when it came to the matter of changing the past, and he drowned himself in reality as he stood like a statue in his hallway: eyes reddening from a lack of blinking, as he found himself utterly frozen, and completely fixated upon his parents and Kat, Kat who'd finally come home, Kat who he'd promised so many things to, Kat who'd given him an apology, Kat who he cared for so much, and  _Kat_ , who his mother had just slapped across the face.

Gerard was not alone in his shock; his father shared it, and perhaps stood there beside her, beginning to realise what kind of woman his wife was, because he sat down, kept out of it, kept her business as her business, but not this time, because although Mr Way wasn't quite sure what to make of Kat's gender and the fact that they'd practically runaway from home for the past few days, he knew that no child deserved to be hit by their own mother, no matter  _what_  they'd done.

But he couldn't find the courage to argue his case for the life of him, and neither could Gerard, not that Gerard ever spoke much to his parents anymore, and not that his mother would listen to either of them in the situation at hand, and as the the trance that had befallen them finally snapped in two, as Kat raised their hand, and slapped Mrs Way right back across her own face, and with seemingly far more force than she had exerted upon them.

Gerard’s ears were ringing: it was all too loud, everything was too quick, too loud, too fucking busy, everything was too much, and he felt himself curling up against the wall and closing his eyes, blocking out the sound and opening them back when this had all started.

An hour ago, Gerard had met Kat on the beach, Kat had been armed with little more than a lacklustre apology, but Gerard had been insistent in the fact that he needed his sibling back, and Kat needed Gerard too: Gerard's approval more than anyone else's, and with a few strings of conversation and a smile from Gerard, they'd let themself be convinced, and buried the memories of Frank and Pete and the plethora of mistakes made in the past few days, as they stuck by their brother and put all their trust in perhaps the only one person who'd deserved it.

And an hour later, Gerard stood, convinced he'd failed them, and broken their trust, with the slap from his mother and the silence from him and his father, and the arguments that would linger in the house for days, and in that moment, Gerard didn't blame Kat for getting out - not one little bit, in fact, he only blamed himself for bringing them back, for being  _selfish_  enough to prioritise himself, and drag them back into a toxic situation.

Gerard threw away rational in that very moment, as the yelling grew louder, and she slapped Kat again, and his father winced this time, stepping forward, but still with nothing to say for himself, and Gerard noticed the front door: still open, and abandoned as the two had made it in with false expectations that belonged in the fantasy Gerard found himself constructing in his head: where everything was okay, and he didn't find himself out of breath and ready to step right into the ocean, without a single struggle.

He slipped out the house, of course.

He made his way to the beach, of course.

But the ocean brought little comfort in his situation, and he simply glanced upon it as his heart continued to thud away in his chest; he needed escape, he needed release, and he needed everything to stop, because even the silence was too loud, and Gerard couldn't hear his own thoughts over the sounds of the world, and perhaps he should just stop thinking altogether, but he never quite reached a conclusion before he sat down: cross legged, before the ocean, just a few centimetres away from the tide, letting the sand get into his clothes, embracing it even, because he needed this, he needed the ocean, he needed the shoreline, he needed to feel the water as he reached out, and he needed the scrap of paper and the blue pen he kept in his pocket.

He looked out upon the vast expanse of ocean and closed his eyes.

The air smelt of salt water, of the unimaginable waters beyond, and what lay in their depths, the air smelt like he belonged there, and he sat there silent, closed eyes, breathing in ocean air, and not the water he desired to fill his lungs with upon that fateful date; he needed it  _now_ , he couldn't wait, but he  _had_  to; the date felt permanent in his mind, and perhaps he only deserved the 'prize' if he made it that far, ending it now felt like  _cheating_ , almost.

But still, he put pen to paper and opened his eyes: the world around him such a dull shade of grey, illuminated only by the water, which wasn't exactly an aquamarine blue, but it was still certainly the highlight of this beach, the highlight of this town, the highlight of this world, because Gerard felt insignificant on that shoreline: a tiny speck of a person in comparison to the vast expanse of the ocean, and in that, he felt okay, with the weight off his shoulders, and onto the water, and the mess he'd made with Kat and his parents simply out of his control, and he longed to get to his feet, to step forward, and never stop, even as the water pulled over his head, and his eyes burned with the salt water, and his lungs coughed and spluttered as he struggled to hold his breath any longer.

But he was impatient, and the paper before him would be all that was left: upon his bed, perhaps, or given to Kat, just when it was all too late to stop him, just when he was another body to be fished out of a lake.

He put pen to paper, and began to write; he began to write what felt like an apology, but in reality was nothing of the sort, because try as he might, Gerard couldn’t force himself to be sorry, not at all.

-

"You are  _such_  a virgin, Frank." She laughed her  _motherfucking_ head off, and of course, Frank had expected nothing less of Lindsey Ballato, who, although, wasn't an asshole, wasn't exactly the world's nicest person either, but besides all that, she was one of Frank's closest friends, and he'd spent about four minutes with her in the past week, and it was all down to the motherfucking  _letter_ : the one scrawled in blue ink, the one Frank couldn't get off his mind, no matter how hard he tried.

"I know." Frank let out a sigh: finding himself rather complacent in his virginity - he'd gotten  _attached_  to it, or something equally as ridiculous, whatever, it really wasn't his number one concern at this point in time, or well,  _ever_. It seemed to be Lindsey's though, which Frank was just a little concerned about.

"Don't you mind?" She asked, raising her eyebrows all too casually as she got up off her bed and reached over to her iPod and skipped the song that was currently playing in the background: some obscure feminist punk band Frank didn't recognise, as it usually was with Lindsey.

Frank shrugged, crossing his legs and leaning back against Lindsey’s bedroom wall; the two were sat on her bed, doing basically fuck all - just another Saturday, really. "It's not the most important thing in the world, is it?"

It was now Lindsey's turn to shrug, "depends on your perspective, doesn't it?" She shuffled closer to Frank and took a moment to laugh at him, in a friendly, oddly affectionate, and overall very Lindsey esque manner. "I, am  _not_  a virgin-"

"I know!" Frank exclaimed, descending into giggles as he glanced at Lindsey and attempted to recount her ex-boyfriends, all  _sixteen_  of them. "You're a hot girl, Lindsey, of course people want to sleep with you. I'm an emo lump who doesn't talk to anyone besides you, Ray, and Pete - I think you're the only girl I've actually made eye contact with in my whole life... besides my mum, of course, I've made eye contact with my mum... it would be kind of weird if I hadn't."

"I have this friend..." Lindsey trailed off, and Frank  _instantly_  knew where this was going, and he didn't like it one bit, because Lindsey had a lot of ideas, and they all had one thing in common: they were  _very bad_  ideas.

"No." Frank exclaimed, shaking his head firmly, "you're not setting me up to get me laid, when I lose my virginity it's going to be with someone I like and care about and not some girl in your French class or something that owes you because you gave her some gum once four years ago." It was probably also going to be a dude, because Frank was a massive fucking  _gaylord_ , but he didn't say that aloud.

"Jamia's in my Geography class,  _actually_." And Frank thought for a good minute then that Lindsey was joking, but,  _of course_ , she wasn't.

"Jamia?" Frank shook his head as he came to terms with just how serious Lindsey was, "fuck, I don't even know who that is."

"Jamia Nestor: small, dark hair, pretty, in my geography class, really funny, like she's an  _asshole_ , but in a good way." Lindsey smiled, "come on, why not, just come and  _meet_  her, you don't even have to date her, just meet her. You can go full homo and friend zone her if you really want to, if you have one more female friend that makes you look just the tiny little bit  _less_  sad, so it's all good, I guess."

"Full homo." Frank repeated, raising his eyebrows in disgust, because fucking hell  _no_.

"It was Ray not me." Lindsey responded instantly, leaving Frank to raise his eyebrows and stare at her in confusion, "well, me and Ray were talking, and yeah... you've never shown even the slightest interest in girls, have you, Frank? It's not like it's ridiculous to think that you might be gay."

"I'm pretty sure I'm not gay." Frank lied, and of course, did a fucking  _terrible_  job of it.

"Okay then." Lindsey sounded  _totally_  like she believed him, of course, Frank didn't believe him, but she ought to believe him anyway - it was besides the point. "Have you ever had a crush on a girl?"

"Of course I have." Frank began without even thinking.

"Who?" Lindsey raised her eyebrows in disbelief.

" _Jamia Nestor_." He rolled his eyes, laughing it off, "like I'm gonna fucking tell you."

"Okay then." She continued, grinning to herself, and pausing for a moment, before continuing with a, "have you ever had a crush on a guy?" And Frank really should have seen that one coming.

However, it was apparent he didn't, as he practically died right then and there, because he totally wasn't thinking about the boy with the pretty face from the beach, who he'd buried in the mess of everything.

_Gerard_ , wasn't it?

But that was by no means a proper crush because Frank had met him fro about five minutes and he didn’t even know who the fuck this dude was.

"N-No..." Frank stuttered out in a very believable tone.

"What’s his name?" Lindsey asked, leaning back against the wall and giggling a little, "I  _called_  it."

Frank met her with a stern gaze and a shake of his head. "No."

"I won't tell Ray: I won't tell anyone, come on, just tell me, because there's a guy isn't there. I should have... Jesus Christ, Frank, are you like fully  _gay_  or bi or what?"

Frank groaned, leaning back against the wall, "I don't have to answer that question."

Lindsey raised her eyebrows, extremely unsatisfied by his response. "Okay then, answer another one: what's  _his_  name?"

"It's not even a proper crush, I only met him once a few days ago, but he's  _cute_... and... and... he's called Gerard. I don't know his last name, he's just  _Gerard_  and... yeah..."

"Gerard." Lindsey repeated, smiling at Frank.

"Yeah..."

"Frank and Gerard... that's kind of cute, you know?"

"Fuck off." Frank groaned, stumbling to his feet, "this isn't fair because you peer pressured the fuck out of me into telling you something I'm not even really that comfortable with myself, and that’s an asshole move-"

"But at least I'm gonna shut up about your virginity and Jamia Nestor now, aren't I?" Lindsey raised her eyebrows, smiling.

"Why are we friends?" Frank shook his head and sat back down, "you're a fucking  _bitch_ , you know that right?"

"I'm very well aware."

"I should hope so."

-

 "Since when did being your friend mean I’m your official dog walking buddy?" Lindsey raised her eyebrows, but let out a laugh regardless, Frank shaking his head as the two, and Daisy, Frank's dog, the very dog that was being walked, in tow, made their way down to the beach, because there was nowhere else worthwhile to go in the evening if you didn't want to get stabbed.

Frank reckoned he wasn't quite so keen on being stabbed, so there they were; Lindsey far more intrigued by the beach, as she visited it far less frequently, living further in the middle of town, and away from the shoreline, and yeah, Lindsey was an antisocial bitch who only ever went outside to smoke - there was that too.

"Since you know about me and... you know... the  _thing_ -"

"God, Frank, you're not  _scared_  of saying it, are you? You're gay, not Voldemort, come on." She laughed it off, leaving Frank to roll his eyes.

"You don't get it, just... can we talk about something else, please?" He asked, all wide eyes, as he kneeled down, no not to give Lindsey oral sex, but to take Daisy's collar off, praying that she somehow wouldn't manage to drown herself, by just running straight into the sea, in a very intelligent manner - she was an idiot, but a cute idiot, and Frank was a fucking sucker for dogs in general, nevermind cute dogs- okay  _all_  dogs were cute dogs, but, Daisy was  _extra_  cute.

"Okay," Lindsey brushed her hair from her face: strands flying free in the wind, and she resorted to tying it back and out of her face within seconds. "This wind fucking sucks," she commented, her hand going straight to her pocket: straight to the cigarettes - Frank knew her well.

The two began to walk down the beach, Daisy running along at their feet, and occasionally stopping to dig or sniff something, before running back to catch them up.

"You owe me a cigarette - you owe me like seven million cigarettes, but that's besides the point, come on," he reached his hand out towards her, leaving Lindsey to roll her eyes but pass him the packet and her lighter regardless.

"It's the last one in the packet, keep it." She added, as took a drag of her cigarette, "that shows how much I value you, Frank, fucking  _last_  cigarette, fucking you  _owe_  me a cigarette  _bullshit_... doesn't it feel better to have it off your chest?"

"It didn't feel like it was ever really  _on_  my chest, I just... I don't know, I'm not an open person, I guess." Frank shrugged, putting the cigarette to his lips as Lindsey paused to overlook the ocean for a moment.

"It's really nice here, don't you think?" She spoke, her eyes fixated upon the ocean waves, and the mysteries that lurked below.

"Nice isn't the right word, I  _like_  it, obviously, but  _nice_ , no, that's not... calming? Maybe, I don't know, I just feel safe here, it's weird." Frank let out a sigh, shrugging his words off as he spoke them.

"Safe?" Lindsey scoffed, her tone sarcastic, "haven't you heard about the cannibal,  _god_ , Frank? You're gonna get cannibalised."

" _Cannibalised_." Frank repeated, his tone slow and in disbelief, "I think the word you're looking for is  _eaten_."

"Cannibalised - it means  _eaten_ , eaten by a cannibal... cannibalised." She continued, laughing a little as she did so, " _god_ , Frank, it's like you're stupid or something."

"I think I  _am_  stupid." Frank admitted, sitting down on the sands, Lindsey copying his actions after a moment or so.

"You're not stupid." She said, like it was obvious, with a hand on his knee in comfort. "Just  _special_." She continued, giggling.

"Fuck off." Frank let out a sigh, "like, I just can't get anything, and there's something important and I just can't figure it out for the life of me... or perhaps the life of someone else, I just... I... I don't even know if I can tell you, I mean I'm not supposed to know, but it's kinda why I've been so awkward this past week: I'm just  _thinking_ , constantly  _thinking_ , and it feels like there's no end, and no answer."

"What are you talking about?" She exclaimed, her eyes narrowing a little in confusion.

"I found someone's suicide note on Monday." Frank began, preparing himself for every single possible terrible reaction as he did so. "Says they're gonna kill themself on November 1st, but I have no idea who wrote it or how to stop."

"Frank, come on, that fucking sucks, I know, but you don't have to be the hero, you don't have to do anything: it's out of your control, and you shouldn't ruin your life over it - they probably have friends and family to go to, and not just  _some_  dude who found something he shouldn't have."

"What if they don't?" Frank piped up, his gaze distant: off down the beach, coming to notice that Daisy hadn't followed them for a good few metres.

"Then, although sad, it's still not your fault, not your business even. If you don't even  _know_  them, there's just  _nothing_  you can do-" Lindsey was cut off by Daisy's barking, and Frank was immediately at his feet: a reflex of sorts, and even jogging down the beach to reach her, and the scrap of paper she'd gotten so worked up over: half washed away blue ink in the tide.

" _Fuck_." Frank cursed aloud, his eyes widening in disbelief as he put his cigarette between his lips and reached down for what he was praying both was and wasn't what he thought it was.

"What is it?" Lindsey's voice came into earshot as she appeared behind him, significantly less worked up than he was, but still interested enough by the letter in Frank's hands.

"It's another letter."

"From the same person?" Frank nodded. "How do you know?"

"Handwriting, same pen, same paper, same way with words, same thoughts."

_'Everything's my fault now, and I'm sorry, I really am, in fact I couldn't be anymore sorry. I think I'll always be sorry, but maybe you'll just have to accept that I will be sorry at the bottom of a lake come November 1st, because I'm sorry, but that's how it's going to be - that's how it has to be. I'm gonna miss you, no one else though, you matter most, always have, always will._

_I can't even get my thoughts out properly: I hate this, I'm sorry. I want to end it all now, but I have to wait, I know that, even I know that. I don't deserve it yet, as weird as that sounds, but you should be used to it, everything I say sounds weird. I am weird. You know that, of course. I shouldn't have made you-'_

And no more: a sentence never finished, a note dropped to the floor, blurred by the ocean, and an unknown identity behind it all.

-


	7. Sunday, October 7th

Sunday meant church.

Sunday meant the arguments multiplied by ten.

Sunday meant the worst headache.

Gerard hated it all.

He wanted out.

But he had to wait; he had to cling desperately to a date that never really seemed to come close enough, he wondered perhaps if he'd find himself stuck: living out the thirty first of October for the rest of his life, just because he would never deserve this hell to end.

It was a ridiculous notion, of course, but Gerard couldn't quite get it out of his mind, and much in the same way that he couldn't quite get himself out of bed, because he just didn't want today to happen, he didn't want any day to happen; he couldn't bare to face his own existence at all, and it killed him, it really did.

He lay there, motionless, pretending he could fall back to sleep for a good fifteen minutes before there was the knock on his door that practically kick-started a heart attack, because Kat would never knock so forcefully, and perhaps Gerard's biggest nightmare in that moment was facing either of his parents.

He tended to slip by without much in the way of conversation with either of them, but perhaps he wouldn't be quite so lucky today, and Gerard just didn't know what to do about that.

"Gerard, you have to get up, son." At least it was his father, whatever that meant, just the lesser of two evils in the seventeen year old's mind, but what did that mean, what could that  _possibly_  mean.

Gerard couldn't quite manage to force a response, remaining there: still and in the facade of sleep, anything to pull him away from reality, really, but he caught a sigh from the man on the other side of the door, before the door was pushed open, and then footsteps followed, and a dip at the end of Gerard's bed as his father sat down.

"Gerard?" He tried again, and Gerard forced himself to open his eyes this time. "It's Sunday, we've got to go church-"

"I don't want to go." Gerard didn't look his father in the eyes; his voice stern, with meaning, perhaps the one thing he'd truly felt for days besides the urge to kill himself, but he couldn't dictate that to his father with such ease, could he?

"Mikey said exactly the same thing." He let out an odd little chuckle: bemused, perhaps, because honestly, no one besides Mrs Way wanted to be at church every Sunday morning, but Mr Way didn't really know what to say his wife, in regards to anything, really.

"Their name is Kat." Gerard replied with the same tone of voice, still unable to meet his father's eyes, and instead fixating his gaze upon the window and what little of the outside world he could catch from his bed.

Mr Way just nodded, not sure what to make of this at all, but far more concerned with what his wife deemed he should make of it. "Mikey or Kat, whatever you want to call them, Gerard, look, said the same thing, but just like you, he has to go-"

" _He_." Gerard repeated, finally sitting up.

"Your  _brother_ , Gerard." Mr Way let out a sigh, and he was quite honestly rather uneducated on the whole matter of non-binary gender, and wasn't even being purposefully transphobic, just stumped on what would be the appropriate word to use for the younger of his two children.

Gerard wasn't in the mood to care for his father's lack of education. "I don't have a  _brother_. If you ask your son Mikey to do something, your child Kat isn't going to do it. You and mum should respect them and their pronouns and maybe then they wouldn't run off for days on end."

"It's difficult, Gerard, you know it is-"

"How difficult is it for you to use they instead of he or Kat instead of Mikey- Kat's a fucking shorter name than Mikey, how is that fucking  _difficult_?" It was at that very moment that Gerard completely lost it, pulling his sheets away from him, and stumbling out of bed and pulling a pair of jeans on over his boxers.

"Please don't swear at me, Gerard." Mr Way let out a disheartened sigh, simply sitting there and watching hopelessly as his son pulled a hoodie on over the shirt he'd slept in and moved his hair into vaguely the right position with his fingers. "Are you ready to eat breakfast now?" He asked, speaking with a misjudged amount of hope.

"I'm not hungry, and I'm not going to Church-"

"Please don't, Gerard, come on, do you want me to get your mother-"

"No, I'd rather I wasn't  _slapped_." And his words were something like a slap across the face to his father, who winced a little as he replied the memory of his wife slapping Kat through his mind.

"Well then..." He trailed off, getting to his feet, "it's best you get breakfast, isn't it?"

"Are you really not going to say anything?" Gerard snapped, for once looking his father dead in the eyes, "you're just going to let her hit us?"

"What  _can_  I do, Gerard?" He let out a defeated sigh, speaking the most truth he had in ages.

"Stand up to her: she's your wife, not your mother, you're supposed to love her, respect her, she's supposed to respect you." Gerard paused, "she's supposed to love and respect as a mother too."

"Your mother has a lot of stress in her life, you know that, Gerard, don't you?" Mr Way's tone grew more stern, giving up all hope, just when Gerard thought he might be getting somewhere for once in his life.

"So do I. I'm not the one  _abusing_  people." Because Gerard couldn't give less of a fuck right now, in fact, a part of him grew eager for confrontation, for the excitement, for  _something_  to happen, for  _something_  to change, because he wouldn't let this be just another  _fucking_  Sunday, it wasn't like he had that many left either, and if all he could do was make the most of them, then perhaps he would do just that.

"You're seventeen, Gerard, you have no idea what stress is." Mr Way let out yet another sigh, glancing towards the door, "come on, just eat something, will you? Your day's going to be worse if you haven't had breakfast."

"Go fuck yourself." Gerard snapped at his father, pulling his knees up to his chest as he fell back down onto his bed.

Mr Way stood there for a moment, wishing there was something he could do, a way to help his son, a way to make everything okay, but there was nothing he could think to do than make his way into the kitchen and fetch his wife.

And that was how it was destined to always be, even if Mr Way kept assuring himself that he'd do the 'right thing' the next time, or the next, or the next, or the next, or the next, or a million next times down the line.

It all didn't fucking matter, because Gerard wouldn't be alive to see the day when his father finally took his side over her's.

-

For the amount of time Frank had be conned into dog walking as of late, he reckoned he should start getting paid for it, of course, his mother did disagree, but Frank loved Daisy, of course, and well, any distraction was welcome.

Of course, Daisy was hardly an exceedingly brilliant distraction, but Frank had just about come to accept that little to nothing would be exceedingly brilliant in his life - at the very least, Lindsey's phone had run out of battery and he would be free from her excessive texting for a while.

She didn't seem to care too much about the letter, but when it came to how Frank felt about the letter, and his mental health in general, suddenly she was twice as concerned as Frank himself, and Frank didn't quite know what to make of that, because of course, a friend was being nice and caring about him, yeah, that was a good thing, but perhaps Frank didn't want that; perhaps Frank just wanted answers, just wanted November 1st to never come, and if it did, for him to be certain that the writer of the letter was and would be safe and  _alive_.

But a week had nearly gone by, and Frank was nowhere closer to the identity of the writer, he could of course repeat the second letter in his mind to himself with no trouble at all, because no, Frank wasn't overthinking and letting this ruin his life at all.

Perhaps he just cared too much.

Perhaps he was weird too.

_'Everything's my fault now, and I'm sorry, I really am, in fact I couldn't be anymore sorry. I think I'll always be sorry, but maybe you'll just have to accept that I will be sorry at the bottom of a lake come November 1st, because I'm sorry, but that's how it's going to be - that's how it has to be. I'm gonna miss you, no one else though, you matter most, always have, always will._

_I can't even get my thoughts out properly: I hate this, I'm sorry. I want to end it all now, but I have to wait, I know that, even I know that. I don't deserve it yet, as weird as that sounds, but you should be used to it, everything I say sounds weird. I am weird. You know that, of course. I shouldn't have made you'_

This time there was no mention of a name, but Frank knew the handwriting and could just about figure that it was to the same 'Mikey', and this added little more than confusion to his head, taking up everything, even to the extent that Frank found himself stopping just millimetres away from a lamp post that he was so  _fucking_  close to walking into.

He stopped there, just blinking for a moment as he began to remember where he was, and where he'd been on his road when he'd started thinking about the letter, and now how he was a good ten minutes away, outside the church,  _fuck_.

"Are you okay?" He jumped a little at the voice, soon focusing upon a boy with dark hair, sat underneath a tree inside the church gates: his knees half pulled up to his chest, and with one headphone in; he looked familiar, oddly so, but Frank couldn't quite place it.

"Yeah, I just..." Frank let out a sigh, stepping inside the church gates, Daisy yapping in confusion as he did so, because this was most definitely not part of the designated walk route, but Frank seriously could not give one fuck about Daisy when he finally recognised the boy:  _Gerard_.

Fucking cute Gerard.

Thank fuck Lindsey wasn't here.

"You just?" Gerard raised his eyebrows, perhaps just a little confused as to where the other end of that sentence had gone.

"Gerard..." Frank was a little cautious, "from the beach, like last week, at like two in the morning..."

"I go to the beach at two in the morning a lot, you're gonna have to specify which guy who might be the cannibal you are-" Gerard cut himself off, gesturing for Frank to sit down beside him, "I'm joking, Frank. I go out there a lot... don't tend to have company at times like that, though."

"Can understand why, people are scared of the cannibal aren't they?" Frank let out a smile as he sat down beside Gerard, leaving Daisy to yap at the new found emo lump, "this is Daisy, by the way, she's a little shit, but she means well."

"Like you then?" Gerard's face gave way to a smile as he pulled the headphone from his ear. "I don't mean it, I missed you, I thought about you a bit this past week... you were nice to me... I'm sorry... I... I wasn't in a good state then, I mean, I'm not in the best of states now... my  _parents_... things aren't  _great_  at home, and I don't want to go into church, I don't want to hear that...  _bullshit_ , I just don't."

"It's okay, hey, you can tell me what happened if you want." Frank smiled at him, doing all he could to make  _cute Gerard_  feel just a little better with himself.

"It's... there's no point explaining, I just want to leave, I don't want to be here, but my dad told me to wait here at the very least, but I just, I-"

"I have half a dog walk left to do, I'd appreciate the company." Frank paused for a moment, "fuck your dad- well don't  _fuck_  your dad, but... you know what I mean? I guess he's been an asshole to you to make you feel like this, so be an asshole back to him, and indulge in the great rebellion that is...  _dog walking_."

Gerard just  _laughed_  at him, glancing back at the church, before thinking  _fuck_ it, and getting to his feet, "you're a bad influence, Frank."

"No, I'm not. Have you ever dog walked before?" Frank asked, all too casually, as he got to his feet.

"No." Gerard looked at Frank with confusion.

"Well then, I'm teaching you a valuable life skill, aren't I? Therefore, this is a good influence, and you're doing the right thing by going with me, also it's getting bad shit off your mind, so it's making you feel better, and I don't give a fuck about bad and good influences, what matters is that you're happy."

"Frank, your dog isn't quite that miraculous to make me grin with an uncontrollable happiness."

"If Daisy could understand English she would be seriously offended now, but anyway, in that case, if Daisy isn't miraculous, I sure am."

And Gerard just wasn't sure if he could disagree on that one.

-

The two had just about made it to the local park before Frank got tired of walking, because seriously that shit was way too much effort, and insisted they stopped and sat down on a bench, letting Daisy off her leash, and sort of half hearted throwing a ball across the field for her to fetch and return.

"I aim to be that easily amused." Frank let out a chuckle as he leaned back against the back of the bench, throwing the ball for Daisy for like the tenth time now, and she still returned it with just as much excitement as the very first throw.

"What?" Gerard had apparently zoned out, looking at Frank with a vaguely dazed expression.

"This is like the eleventh time I've thrown this ball, she's as happy as the first, and come another eleven times, she'll be just as happy." Frank smiled at Gerard, "I wish I could be like that- of course, you'd have to throw the ball for me, because like I'm not doing that shit for myself."

"So basically, you want to be a dog?" Gerard raised his eyebrows at that: Frank was certainly  _interesting_  to say the least. "Like bark and wag your tail and just shit all day?"

Frank tried his best not to cringe and think of pet play as he forced together some sort of less awkward response, because no, Frank really wasn't into being a dog like that - it was just a stupid comment and now it was ruining his life, and Gerard was totally noticing him blush.

"What?" Was the sound of Gerard noticing.

"Nothing." Frank shrugged it off, throwing the ball for Daisy again, and shuffling closer to Gerard, totally casually,  _of course_. "I just... I think my original point was how dogs are just so happy and satisfied and the world is so boring and fucking  _depressing_  all the time, and I just... I wish everything could be okay and happy."

"Me too." Gerard admitted, gritting his teeth as he did everything he could not to focus on the letter and how he could never even get that right, and November 1st, because Gerard found himself caring about Frank, and  _fuck_ , Frank could  _never_  know, but little did Gerard know, he already did, just not the whole story.

"You're too pretty to be sad." Frank let out a sigh, "don't take that the wrong way... you just have a nice face, that's it, aesthetically pleasing, and all that."

"How I look has nothing to do with how I feel. I believe everyone's beautiful, so no one should be sad, but that's not how it is, it's never going to be like that. Fucked up situations and chemicals in your head don't give a shit about how 'conventionally beautiful' you look." And Gerard was both pretty and incredibly clever, and Frank was fucking  _done_  - right then and right there.

"I know, you know what I mean. I was just trying to be nice: it was intended as a compliment, I said it the wrong way, I guess." Frank let out a sigh. "I'll just say it properly this time around: I think you're pretty."

"T-thank you..." Gerard stuttered out: blushing and stumbling over his words, "I'm sorry, I'm... I'm stupid, it's my fault, you were just trying to be nice and I made a mess out of things, I-"

"Hey-" Frank reached out, placing his hand on Gerard's shoulder, and feeling the boy shudder a little at the contact. "You're not stupid, there's nothing wrong with you-"

"There's  _so_ much wrong with me." Gerard fucking  _laughed_  at that one. "Ask anyone."

"Like who? Some bullshit asshole kid who thinks he's a fucking champion when really he's destined for either prison or a lifetime working at McDonald's?" Frank scoffed at that, "there's nothing wrong with you."

And silence, as Gerard shook his head. "Ask my parents." He paused, inhaling sharply, "ask my doctor, therapist, whoever the hell."

"That's not-..." Frank paused for a moment, unsure of quite how to respond; he wasn't exactly the expert here, to say the least. "Just because- because you're ill, or whatever, doesn't mean there's anything wrong with you as a person, or you're stupid. A blind person isn't stupid for being blind. A deaf person isn't an idiot for being deaf."

"Well I'm not blind or deaf - it's different." He snapped out, glancing at Frank for a moment, wondering if there was a chance in hell he could possibly understand, but no, that'd be asking for too much; Gerard didn't reckon he deserved that - not at all.

"It's not different-"

"I'm messed up in the head, not physically ill, you know what I mean?" Gerard cut Frank off, losing all of his patience and his fucks to give simultaneously.

"Still doesn't mean you're stupid or anything like that, and it's not that different, you're just ill in a different way."

Gerard let out a sigh, "are you just bullshitting me right now or are you really a decent person?"

Frank chuckled at that, "I'm not bullshitting you, Gerard."

"Well  _fuck me_ , because, you're not allowed to be pretty, nice to me, and a decent human being - that's too much, there must be some sort of flaw here-"

"I'm a bad influence?" Frank offered with a grin.

"Yeah, there's that." Gerard let a smile creep onto his lips, "do you really think I'm pretty?"

"Like I said, I'm not bullshitting you."

-


	8. Monday, October 8th

"It's not your fault, Gerard." And Kat was perhaps the only person Gerard could count on, but still in that moment, their words meant very little altogether. "You have to get up." They added, their tone growing ever more half-hearted, as the words seemed to mean so much less, until they were speaking lies, or speaking nothing at all.

Gerard only turned the other way, pulling the covers back over his head, because if there was anything he was sure of, it was that he most certainly couldn't face the world today, not through his own eyes at the very least; he could live, he just couldn't live his own life.

"Please." Kat's tone grew louder, a hand pulling the covers away from Gerard's face, to which the older of the two siblings flinched, curling up further away from the younger. "You have to go to school. We have to go to school. Please, come on, it's not your fault. It wasn't your fault."

"It was my fault." Gerard choked out, and really Kat was shocked to get that out of their sibling. "It was my fault." Gerard repeated, as if determined to convince himself so, like he wasn't quite there yet, like Kat still had some hope of fixing it.

"Nothing's your fault, Gerard. You're easily the most innocent, the best person in this world. You wouldn't hurt anyone, you care so much." Kat let out a sigh, sitting down beside their brother, desperately wishing he could get out of bed at least, but it was becoming apparent that Kat just wouldn't quite get that lucky.

"I walked off. So did he." Gerard sat up at that: tear stained eyes, bright red cheeks, meeting Kat: all pale skin, too pale, so fucking pale, their eyes glassy, like none of this was real - dissociated from the world, perhaps. Gerard was jealous.

"No. That's not how it was." Kat let out a sigh, forcing a smile in their brother's direction, "you didn't want to go to church, mum didn't like that, she got angrier when you weren't there when we got out of the church. She blamed dad for letting you stay outside. It was a horrible fucking argument in the car on the way home. I told her she was being stupid and I texted you, dad agreed with me... he was on the right side for the first time in his life, I guess. She didn't like that. She slapped me, again," Gerard winced at that, and Kat didn’t blame him, "that was why he walked out."

"It all started with me though." Gerard protested, having stopped crying by then at the very least.

"No it didn't. He walked out because of mum, because he couldn't take the way she was acting anymore. It's her fault and she deserves it." Gerard paused for a moment after Kat had spoken, processing the information, and struggling to believe it, but fuck, it all added up, it really did.

"Where is she now?" He asked, his voice timid in tone, and Kat was just so fucking overwhelmed that he'd accepted the truth that they didn't even really register what their brother had said for a good a moment or so.

"Work. She went in early." Kat explained, their tone calm and welcoming, and everything Gerard needed in that moment. "Come on, Gerard, get dressed, I’ll make you something for breakfast."

"Can I walk to school with you today?" Gerard asked, his voice quiet, almost scared of not just the consequence but the way his words pierced the air altogether.

"Of course you can. As long as you don't mind my friend - he's nice, though, don't worry, I promise you that."

-

Gerard looked horrendous; his cheeks still red, making it all too evident that he'd been crying, and his hair wasn't even doing that good a job of hiding it that day, but in that moment, his appearance was the least of his concerns, focusing on Kat, who was acting more like the older of the two in that moment, but perhaps that was just what Gerard needed.

And Kat had reassured Gerard that everything was okay at least twenty times before they'd even reached the street corner and the aforementioned friend of Kat's, and well, Gerard didn't exactly appreciate a stranger's presence when he was in a state like this, but little did he know that Kat's friend wasn't so much of a stranger.

He'd kept his head down for the past few meters, fixated upon the pavement below and the way his feet moved upon it, growing to hate the way he walked in barely any time at all, only to have his head snap up, his whole world thrown to shit, but perhaps in the best way, as Kat approached their friend.

"Hey, Frank."

And for approximately half a second Gerard hated himself for looking up, because there were more people in the world than Frank Iero, who was caught in the delusion that Gerard was cute, Frank Iero dog walker extraordinaire, Frank Iero, just who he'd been with yesterday, as he unknowingly brought his entire family to shit.

And there were indeed more Franks in the world than Frank Iero, but this was indeed Frank Iero stood before them.

"Gerard?" Frank in fact seemed to ignore Kat completely as he met eyes with their sibling, taking note of his appearance, and the state he'd been in that was made evident by it.

"Hey..." Gerard trailed off, his voice so quiet it was barely a whisper; he wasn't uncomfortable in Frank's company, but uncomfortable with himself, his own company, so to speak.

"You two... know each other?" Kat looked between the two, trying to piece the mess together, but coming to no reasonable explanation as they attempted to do so.

"Yeah." Frank smiled awkwardly at Kat, speaking for Gerard, as it was apparent that the taller boy wasn't in much of a state to do that, or anything really. "We met at the beach, and then, we're friends, I guess... I didn't know he was your brother..."

"I didn't know he was your friend- I mean... he doesn't.... get out much..." Kat looked at Gerard nervously, feeling a little like they were talking about him as opposed to talking with him.

"I was with Frank yesterday." Gerard began, not looking up as he spoke, "we went to the park with Daisy, his dog. But it's not his fault, because it's not mine either."

"No it's not..." Kat trailed off, glancing at Frank, entirely unprepared for this situation, because he really couldn’t have expected it at all. "None of it was your fault, Gerard."

"What happened?" Frank asked, because he cared too much and he needed to know.

"It's.. it's uhh..." Kat trailed off, unsure how to tell Frank to mind his own fucking business, when Gerard spoke up.

"Our dad walked out afterwards. I don't think he's coming back."

-

"He trusts you." Kat noted with a sigh once Gerard had gone to class, leaving them and Frank stood beside Kat's locker in the corridor. "He trusts you so much. I didn't even know he knew you."

"He doesn't have to tell you everything does he?" Frank asked, raising his eyebrows a little, unsure quite what to make of Kat's attitude towards their brother.

"You don't get it, Frank." Kat met the shorter of the two's gaze, "he's... he tells me things, he doesn't trust people, he doesn't talk to people, he doesn't really have friends, he's shy, he lives inside his own head, he barely ever leaves his room and then only to go to the beach."

"We met at the beach. It was like two in the morning, we were both there to get away from the world, I guess, and we just spoke for a while, and I don't know, I think we just get along, like some people just work well together naturally." Frank offered an explanation, but Kat was far too protective and didn't seem to like it.

"He doesn't trust people, but... but... what's different with you? What could possibly be different with you?" Kat exclaimed, making their way down the corridor and leaving Frank to follow in confusion.

"I don't know, Kat, ask him for god's sake if you're that worked up about it, but why is this a problem? Why is it a problem that your little brother trusts me-"

"He's older." Kat met Frank's gaze, "he's older than me, he's seventeen, I'm sixteen. He's my older brother."

"Oh." Frank stood there in thought for a moment, "I... I just... you seem to look after him, and... you're..."

"I know." Kat let out a sigh, "doesn't help that I'm taller than him either?" They let out a half-hearted laugh with that. "Look, I just, he's my brother and I care about him and this isn't normal behavior for him so I'm just trying to figure it out, because he never tells people what's going on in his head - I have to work it out for myself. I can't just ask him, Frank."

"I don't know, Kat, I honestly don't, there's nothing weird, I promise. We're friends, and we get a long pretty well-"

"That's already fucking weird because Gerard doesn't just make friends, it's... it's... how long have you even known him?" Kat exclaimed, the two making their way to their next class: already late, but with a slowly declining amount of fucks to be given.

"Like a week." Frank responded, watching Kat's face contort into one of disbelief.

"What the fuck... I... you're either fucking Jesus or- what the fuck did you say to him? Anything fucking-... was there anything you said to him that he like reacted to in a major way?"

"Well..." Frank paused for a moment, meeting Kat's eyes, "I said he was pretty, and the first time I said it, he... he was just... he was weird about it, and then I said it a second time, like more passionately, like showing him I really meant it, and I then... then it was like he was angry at me, but then yesterday I said it to him when we were sat on a park bench, and he didn't believe me, but he was just happy, like really happy... it's weird... thinking about it, actually."

"Why did you keep telling him he's pretty?" Kat asked, looking Frank up and down with apprehension.

"Because he is. I'm not lying to him, Kat, I think he's pretty, and it wasn't like... it was appropriate in conversation, I'm not being weird about it, I just... I think he's pretty, really pretty, and I hate how he doesn't seem to believe me."

Kat just let out a sigh of disbelief as they reached their class, "he trusts you, Frank, he fucking trusts you, please, I'm begging you, don't fuck him over. Gerard's... he's... he's going to break, fucking break in half if you break that trust, I tell you that now."

-

"Gerard, can you stay behind just a minute?" Mr McCracken asked, and Gerard was thanking god himself that he was the last student to get up, as that'd certainly get some horrible rumours spread about him.

He closed the door and turned to face the supply teacher, and the all too sympathetic look in his eyes: it was something Gerard found himself close to despising, but he knew Mr McCracken cared, and he had to appreciate that, because not a lot of people did.

"I'm just checking if you're okay. You're free to go, I'm just saying I'm here to talk." He gestured for Gerard to step closer to him, and he did, a little nervous, and not really prepared to tell the guy his whole fucking life story but he forced himself to appreciate the sentiment. "You can trust me, Gerard, you know you can?"

And Gerard had to stop himself from disagreeing aloud. "I'm-... everything's fine, Mr McCracken."

"If you're sure, Gerard." He paused for a moment, visibly in thought, "you can come to my office at lunch if you have no one to have lunch with, I know it sounds a bit lame, but, you're welcome, only if you want to come, of course."

"I... I... I don't know, I..."

"It's okay, Gerard, you don't have to do anything." He smiled, glancing at the clock, "god, I'm keeping you aren't I? Look, you can go now, I'd just really appreciate it if you could tell me what's making you so upset, because I really hate seeing you so upset, Gerard, I really do."

"It's... it's nothing, I..." Gerard let out a sigh, almost choking on his own words, "I'm just being stupid, it's my fault, there's nothing really wrong. I've just done something stupid, and now everything's in my face as a result, and I... it's my fault, Mr McCracken, don't worry."

And that time, Kat wasn't there to argue with him, to tell him it was all okay, because in that moment Gerard was certain of the truth that this was his own doing: his own mess, his own mistake.

-

"Hey, Gerard?" Frank was a fucking idiot: a fucking lovestruck idiot, running after Gerard Way, hoping just to catch a moment of his attention, just to see that fucking beautiful face, almost maybe to talk to him without Kat being there - not really in a bitchy way, but just about what Kat said.

Gerard froze in the corridor, genuinely to surprised to find someone wanting his attention, because lunchtime was just a practice of sitting on his own and blocking out the world, in fact, he'd even considered going to see Mr McCracken, but he wasn't quite that desperate; he was a teacher, and he wanted to know too much, after all.

Frank soon reached Gerard, the two meeting eyes, and Frank flashing a smile at the older boy, "is it okay if I spend lunch with you?" He asked, watching as Gerard's eyes lit up at the notion, and the most beautiful boy in the world grew furthermore beautiful with a smile, and a genuine one at that.

"Yeah." Gerard nodded, unable to stop smiling for a good few moments, "I usually sit behind the school near this tree where no one can really see you... I was going there."

"Yeah, that's great." Frank smiled: everything about him far too overenthusiastic, and Gerard was almost nervous, but he trusted Frank and it didn't look like that was changing any time soon. "So how was your day?" Frank asked, making small talk before just flat out asking him about his parents and Kat.

"Alright." Gerard shrugged it off, "nothing much, it was just school. What about you?"

"The same really. I didn't think you went here, though, I've never seen you at this school before. That's made today better: I like spending time with you, Gerard." Frank admitted, his words as sincere as sincere could be. "I really do."

"I like spending time with you, too." Gerard smiled as the two made their way out to the aforementioned tree, sitting down on the grass, perhaps a little too close. "I'm not really the most popular person here, it makes sense that you didn't notice me."

"Can I ask you somethings that are like... kind of personal, serious kind of things?" Frank asked, holding Gerard's gaze as softly as possible. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to for whatever reason: it's fine, but..."

"Okay." Gerard let out a sigh, "what do you want to ask me?"

"It was just something Kat said to me, about you trusting me and they said that you don't trust people, and they just seemed really freaked out about the idea that we were friends, and kept demanding me for answers like I had done something wrong, I don't know, it was weird, but I just... they refused to ask you or let you know about this." He paused for a moment, "I guess this is me doing that."

"They're just... being protective, I guess." Gerard let out a sigh, meeting Frank's eyes with the same look Dan Howell gave Phil Lester - a classic heart eyes Howell. "Thank you for telling me, though, you just treat me... you're just so nice to me, but you're not weird about it, you're being genuine, and that's weird for me, I guess."

"It shouldn't be." Frank let out a sigh, "you're lovely, Gerard, you really are: you're like my favourite person in the world!" He continued to exclaim.

"I'm not." Gerard protested, "I'm not even my favourite person in the world... I don't like myself at all..." he trailed off, letting out a sigh, "I'm just... just too weird, I feel weird, I hate it. I want to be okay, I want to be normal, but what does that even mean?"

"You're perfect the way you are, Gerard." Frank smiled, placing his hand on Gerard's knee in comfort, causing Gerard to squirm a little under the touch. "I'm sorry," Frank noted Gerard's reaction, pulling away.

"No, it's..." He let out a sigh, leaning back against the tree, "I'm just nervous about everything, well it feels like it, it's probably true too." He sighed once more, meeting Frank's eyes, and registering the look in them and just what it could possibly mean, before moving a little so he was leaning against Frank's shoulder. "You're comfy actually." Gerard noted, causing Frank to giggle a little.

"Can I put my arm around you?" He asked, Gerard nodding in response, and readjusting his position as Frank leaned into him and put his arm around Gerard's shoulders, and dear god, they were practically cuddling. "Gerard," he asked, "do you want to talk about things? Like your mum and dad, and Kat, and well... anything. You can talk to me about anything, you don't have to, but-"

"I'm scared my dad's never gonna come back." Gerard admitted without a moment's thought, no longer even questioning the trust he had for Frank Iero, because it just made sense.

"I think he will." Frank answered, "I can't know for sure, but if he cares and loves you and Kat then he's going to come back and see you. If he doesn't, then he doesn't care and he's not the kind of father you want in your life."

"I don't even like him that much, it's just... he's my dad, you know?" Gerard met Frank's eyes, "I miss him, and it's weird: it's too quiet at home, especially with mum leaving early... it's too quiet, too fucking quiet, I just hate it. This isn't how it's supposed to be... he has to come back."

"Couldn't you call him and ask him what's going on?" Frank suggested, blushing a little as Gerard leaned closer into his side.

"I don't want to talk to him, I don't want him to make excuses, I just... I want him back home." Gerard bit his lip, glancing up at Frank again, "you care, you really care, don't you?"

"Of course I do." Frank smiled.

"Is it because you think I'm pretty?"

"No." Frank shook his head, "no, those are two separate things, Gerard, I care because I care about you, you're just pretty as well, well beautiful actually, but-"

"I can maybe begin to believe pretty, but beautiful, no." Gerard let out a laugh.

"I'm not lying to you."

"I know you're not. You must be blind-"

"No, Gerard, I'm not blind either."

-


	9. Tuesday, October 9th

Mrs Way didn't come home until two that morning.

Mr Way didn't come home at all.

Gerard didn't sleep for a second.

Kat had retreated to their bedroom, smoking away in the corner with no one to stop them this time.

Gerard had left at half eleven, his exit covered by the sound of some random angsty punk album coming from Kat's room, perhaps it was only in that moment did Gerard really embrace all the noise. He grabbed a jacket, his cellphone, his camera, and his keys, shoving his feet into his sneakers before he made his way out the front door.

It was dark, but not really dark, the sky more of a navy colour as opposed to a true blackness - the sky wasn't devoid of light just yet, but the darkness was coming, inevitably coming, forever on the horizon, and a part of Gerard simply wished for it to come sooner, whereas the other part cherished the small amount of light that allowed him to see in front of him as he made his way down to the waterfront, glancing back at the house as his feet made contact with sand and pebbles.

He wondered what'd become of the household and the family that technically resided in it, he wondered how Kat felt right now, because Gerard felt like he was about to be swallowed whole, and he most certainly didn't embrace this, because it was an odd kind of loneliness that made the least sense, because Gerard stood in the darkness, in the moonlight, his camera in his hands, struggling to figure out just why he found himself so much missing the people he cared so little for.

This was a new perspective, this was him yearning for sense and order, how things 'should' be, this was the part of him that didn't feel quite so alive when there was no one at home who would give a fuck and scream at him if he wasn't in his bedroom. Kat would just know where he was; Gerard didn't go anywhere else, and he had no friends, besides Frank, Frank was different though, somehow, and both of the Way siblings knew that.

At some point, Gerard slipped his shoes off, letting his feet sink into the sand, welcoming it, even, despite the odd sensation, and the way it was almost too cold around his feet. He stepped a little too the right, feeling the grains shift and stick to his skin, doing so much more as he stepped closer to the water, where the sand was moister, and a little less easy to sink into. Instead, his feet made prints against the darker coloured sand, the tide lapping up towards said footprints, and Gerard's feet themselves, but never quite caught them, as the tide continued to decline.

The seventeen year old stopped, snapping a photo of the skyline and the waves upon it: a never ending darkness halted only for a second in the presence of a camera flash. He let out a sigh, his eyes blinking excessively to compensate for the excess of light, holding his camera up once more as his blinking returned to a more normal rate.

He snapped another shot, this one directed at the cliff top and the lighthouse, already illuminated a little by itself, but still, he left the flash on, and expecting the sensation of discomfort for his eyes didn't make it any less uncomfortable this time.

He pondered that for a moment, leaving his camera to hang around his neck, glancing back across the beach and stepping closer into the water, letting the tide reach his ankles. It was cold, needless to say, it was October, it was New Jersey, the water was indeed cold, but perhaps colder than Gerard had expected.

The cold of the water was easily the strongest thing he'd felt for the past few days, and he felt himself stunned by that, letting his feet shiver, embracing the discomfort, the cold, the feeling, everything in his feet, and dear god he couldn't imagine what it'd be like to have his whole body submerged in such cold water; he reckoned he'd feel the world, everything, so much, too much even, but just for two minutes or so, before complete nothing: numbness, a body at the bottom of a lake come November 1st, and nothing more.

He wondered if in those two or so minutes, the intensity of it all would be so strong as to compensate for a life cut short; the next sixty years or so condensed into two or three minutes, every emotion, every feeling, so strong, stronger than everything, stronger than everything before. It both frightened and intrigued him, leaving him stood there silent, cold water lapping over his feet with the movements of the tide for hours.

He stood in the cold shallows and fantasised about the end for longer than ever thought possible: letting the world pass him by: all too fast and all at once, a mess of everything he had and would ever know, and it still it wasn't enough. Gerard didn't think he'd ever be happy, he didn't ever think there was anything he could do to make himself happy, even with killing himself come November 1st, he wouldn't be happy, in those last few minutes, even in knowing he'd finally achieved his 'goal', gotten what he'd wanted, he still wouldn't be happy. It'd just be over, and then he couldn't be happy, fuck, he wouldn’t be able to feel anything at all, and that was rather the point.

Gerard only began to move as his cellphone began to beep in his pocket, alerting him of its low battery life. It was in that moment that he was thrown back into reality, his feet feeling numb in the nighttime air. He glanced back at the house, his house, which it was, despite the fact that it couldn't feel anything less like it, and snapped one last shot of the ocean, before picking up his shoes from the spot he'd left them in, simply carrying them up to his house, his feet still too wet to put them on comfortably.

As he made his way inside, he was met by light: an excess of it, what seemed like every light in the house turned on, and a sight he didn't expect, his mother sat at the kitchen table, a hateful kind of look in her eye.

There was no 'where have you been?', there was nothing in fact, only her gaze fixated upon her son as he locked the front door behind him, put his shoes down and made his way back to his room.

Only once he closed his bedroom door behind him, did he catch a muffled, "faggot," muttered drunkenly from the kitchen.

Gerard pulled off his jacket, and lay down on his bed, staring straight up at the ceiling, his body laying in his bedroom, but his mind still back at the beach, with his feet so cold in the ocean, forever thinking of the end of it all.

Gerard didn't sleep for a second.

-

No one spoke that morning, come the 'actual' morning that was.

Mrs Way made her way off to work early again, not that anyone really protested this, especially Gerard, especially in regards to that one fucking word uttered perhaps far too soon - the one word that would not leave his head.

Kat's habit of always waking too early had ensured that they had time to make it out of the house at sunrise and go for a walk on the cliffs before they had to even consider doing something with their day or their life, or anything at all.

Gerard however, had just about made it to the kitchen, before stopping as he came to realise that Kat had in fact gone already; he didn't quite know what to do with himself, and he didn’t quite know why. It wasn't like he needed them, and it wasn't like... it wasn't like there was anything at all - he was just making a mess out of nothing. He was just tired, he was always just fucking tired.

And perhaps that was just what he needed to tell himself to get him through that day, and perhaps that was that, because in the grand scheme of things, this was just another day, another day closer to November 1st, and it was becoming clear that the ever looming date was the only thing that mattered here.

Because, fuck, then it could all just end, and Gerard didn't think he'd ever wanted anything more.

He found himself stood in the kitchen with no reason to do anything at all, with no one to even tell him to go to school, he found himself sending everything to shit and making his way down to the beach and making something vaguely worthwhile out of his last few weeks. He had no reason not to, but then again, he had no reason for anything at all.

And with that realisation, and the world seeming to drown out around him, he shoved his feet into his sneakers and reached for the door, making no attempt to welcome the day nor the outside world, and in fact only making it two steps out of the door with tears in his eyes, before he came to a halt.

His eyes fixated towards the street, towards a boy: all too familiar, and looking at him with such concern - the kind of concern Gerard didn't need nor care for now, but still, he found himself frozen instead of running as the boy, Frank, approached him.

"Gerard?" He asked, meeting his gaze no matter how much Gerard tried to advert his. "What's wrong? Where's Kat?"

Gerard decided to answer neither of those questions, ignoring Frank and glancing back at the beach, and the ocean in the morning, and the way the skyline and sea seemed to merge into one, and he felt himself running before he could stop himself: his actions performed with a lack of explanation, and tears still in his eyes as he yearned for the ocean and cold water everywhere, for everything just to stop.

"Gerard?" Frank's voice always seemed to break through Gerard's thoughts, no matter how much he detested the idea. "What's wrong? What are you doing?" He asked, his voice becoming more stressed as he followed the older boy to the beach, and watched him kick his shoes and socks off into the sand, before stepping into the tide, his sobs only seeming to subdue as the water covered his feet.

And it was perhaps in that moment as Frank stood motionless, a few steps behind Gerard, that he came to realise that perhaps he'd never understand Gerard, this beautiful, amazing, and almost enigmatic boy, but it was in his next actions that he realised perhaps he didn't need to.

Frank said no more, simply kicking his own shoes and socks off into the sand beside Gerard's, rolling his jeans up a little and walking into the water to join Gerard.

The seventeen year old glanced with surprise at the boy by his side; he found himself forced to say something, yet stumbled for what to say, everything seeming to revolve around the odd smile upon Frank's face, and the little purpose it seemed to serve.

He stood there, just watching Frank for a moment, before wiping his tears from his eyes, glancing back to the horizon, perhaps for support, or perhaps for nothing at all, before his gaze found its way back to Frank again - it always did, Gerard reckoned he just couldn't figure out as to why quite yet.

"What are you thinking?" Gerard asked, his tone calm, and his voice quiet, and almost swallowed by the sounds of the ocean, but he most definitely preferred it that way.

"What am I thinking?" Frank exclaimed, laughing a little through his words, his tone much louder: everything about him was so much less afraid; he was happy, truly happy, even in that moment, even when nothing made sense. And Gerard found himself oddly jealous, jealous of all things, and in the same moment, enthralled by the sheer existence of Frank Iero, and his smile, his fucking smile.

"Yeah?" Gerard continued, his voice growing perhaps a little louder: more confident in the shadow of Frank's.

"This water's fucking freezing!" He continued, kicking a little at the tide with his feet. "You don't even look cold, what the fuck."

"I like it." Gerard admitted, "it's... refreshing... it's something, you know?"

"It's cold as balls, that's what it is." Frank shook his head in disbelief.

"Then why are you stood here?" Gerard asked what was the obvious question.

"Because you are." Frank replied with what seemed to him as the obvious answer. "Why are you stood here?"

"I needed to run, I didn't want to see you, I'm... I'm not okay, I guess, but I didn't think you'd follow me. I thought you'd just go away, or call Kat or something... that's what people do when I do weird things..." He trailed off, biting his lip.

"Of course I was going to follow you, Gerard." Frank smiled, "hey, what if you'd tripped and hurt yourself or something? Then what would happen if I wasn't here?"

Gerard shrugged. "Would you have followed me deeper?"

Frank resisted the urge to say 'that's what she said', as it didn't really fit the tone, "yeah, I would."

"Would you have followed me if the water went up to my head? Or to the bottom of the ocean?"

Frank took Gerard's words to be hypothetical, stuck in an odd state of ignorance, "I think I would." He smiled a little, perhaps just at how ridiculous he sounded. "Are you going to walk to the bottom of the ocean?" He asked, his eyebrows raised a little.

The boy beside him tensed up a little, Frank's words meaning more than he could ever know. "Not yet." He let out a sigh, "not today."

-

Kat hadn't meant to do it.

But meaning was irrelevant in comparison to action and consequence, in comparison to the mess they knowingly made; they just hoped Gerard would be alright.

Gerard would be, even if just for today.

Because Frank would ensure that he wasn't alone, as Kat made their way as far away from this kind of hell as possible, because school was perhaps the last place they wanted to be in that moment, and like this, there was no one to stop them, and like this, they could walk forever, and make one hell of a mess doing so.

And they didn't even have to try.

It was easy.

Everything was easy if you looked at it in the right way.

Kat fucked everything up.

Kat ruined their life.

And did so in one phone call, and the meeting with one boy, something they thought they'd never do again - just like every other 'last' time, because all Kat's life was a never ending mixtape of lies and last times over and over again, but this time, one particular song on repeat: a horrible tune, one to the sound of broken 'I love you's that they could never even fathom meaning, and the kind of lies that were meant to be believed.

The two spoke lies like it was the only thing they knew how to do, and Kat smiled right through it all, smiled like they weren't hurting inside at all, because when you lied, you could make anything of yourself, Kat could say anything, be anything, but still all they could ever think to be was this: a fuck up, a mess, and two kids sat on a cliff top with a bottle of vodka between them and storms clouds on the horizon.

It was ten am, and too many words had been said, perhaps all the words for the day, perhaps all the words there'd ever be, perhaps all the words they'd ever need, but perhaps not. Likely not.

Kat wished for another bottle, a different life, a better pretend on and off boyfriend, someone who could lie to them and make it sound more convincing, parents that made up their mind, because they either stayed or they didn't, and they hated this mess of a limbo.

They wished for Gerard to be okay too, because perhaps Gerard was the only thing they could count on to care about, but perhaps caring for Gerard was the only thing Kat would ever find themself to do - they cared, but perhaps too much. Perhaps Frank was a good thing, after all, because Kat didn't want to be there to pick up the pieces, not this time, but soon Frank wouldn't be there anymore, this was just a break, just temporary, everything temporary, always.

Kat downed a swig of vodka, relishing the world's worst taste, and meeting Pete's gaze as they did so. "You're looking at me funny." They noted, leaning closer to Pete.

"You look pretty fucked up right now." Pete, only slightly more sober, commented, letting Kat lean into his side.

"I am." Kat admitted with a giggle, "but it's okay. So are you. Whatever trouble I get into, you're getting into with me." Kat paused, meeting Pete's gaze, "it's okay."

"Kat-"

But Kat couldn't hear anymore, leaning into Pete and kissing him with everything left inside, with every thought still left inside their brain.

"Kat..." Pete began again as he pulled away, leaving the sixteen year old agitated and reaching for the vodka, letting their mind revolve around getting drunk, because Pete didn't know what else to do, what else to say, what other lies Kat might believe.

"Are we really going to keep doing this?" Pete asked with a sigh, leaning back against the grass. "How many more times?"

"I don't know." Kat choked out, "I don't fucking know how long it's going to be until I find something better, until something fucking changes, so don't pin it all on me. Everyone always does: I'm supposed to provide all the answers, but I'm fucked up too, and I don't know anything at all. So go ask your fucking questions to someone else, someone who gives a fuck about you and your sorry excuses."

"I like Kat, I do, I just-" Pete let out a sigh, sitting back up, and looking Kat in the eyes, "you're a mess right now, I'm a mess right now. I can't make promises, I can't agree, I can't do your stupid bullshit."

"You're either coming or you're not." Kat demanded, screaming now, "so fucking tell me something or do I have to find some other guy who'll pretend to care?"

"Kat, it's..." Pete let out a sigh, "it's a bad fucking idea."

"It's the best idea anyone in this town has ever had, and that's getting out, and we have to do that, well I have to do, you don't have to come with me, but I’m asking you to, and I don't even know why I bother."

"I care," Pete pulled Kat closer, "I care, I just don't think this is realistic."

"I don't care!" Kat exclaimed, "I'm gonna leave, two weeks from now, who knows? When will that be? The twenty third? Let's make it the weekend... twenty seventh... twenty eight... I'll be gone. Are you coming with me?"

"What about Gerard?" Pete stressed, knowing Gerard was perhaps the one person Kat gave a shit about.

"He has Frank now, doesn’t fucking need me. Nobody fucking needs me. And don't even try to lie this time. I'm using you, Pete, for alcohol, for sex, for someone to listen to me, for a house to stay in, for someone to lie to me, I need you to come with me, I'll feel better about ruining my life if you ruin yours too."

"You're already ruining your life, Kat, you don't see it, do you?" Pete looked down at the beach and the ocean waves below. "You'll never see it. You never will."

-


	10. Wednesday, October 10th

She didn't return until early Wednesday morning, either, but what was perhaps the worst part was how Gerard grew so easily into acceptance of his mother's absence and how he adjusted to it, because it was wrong, and he wanted things back to how they were, but there was also the part of him that relished in his ability to just go out for a walk on the beach at one in the morning with no regard for consequence.

Kat didn't even question him when he made his way past their room and towards the door; Kat knew where he was going, Kat knew he'd come back in a few hours - Gerard was predictable, his whole life seemed to be little more than a series of intricate patterns, and Kat knew them well, Kat knew him well.

Kat was sat in their room, with the door open for once in their life, because they could, and they were appreciating the breeze coming from the big window in the kitchen, also with all the light coming in from the hallway it was just giving them generally better selfie lighting which was always a priority. Gerard wasn't really sure what they were doing; he didn't want to ask, but their room smelled of beer and they kept laughing at regular intervals - they were happy, at least.

Gerard was just a little more focused on himself in that moment, however, grabbing his camera as he made it out the front door, locking it behind him, and just standing in the porch light for a moment, inhaling the air, and stretching his arm out into the night air and smiling as he felt rain upon his skin; the air was oddly humid, and it wasn't too cold, which baffled Gerard entirely, but he embraced the weather, and even went as far as to roll up the sleeves of his plaid shirt and let the water make contact with his skin.

it was comforting, but not significantly so; rain water wasn't the same as salt water and the ocean, and the feeling of tide, and the great vastness and expanse of it all, but still, Gerard could appreciate the rain upon his skin, even if it did annoy him as to just how quickly his hair grew wet and stringy, however, this was probably doing some good for it, as he reckoned he hadn't washed his hair in entirely too long now.

He ended up pulling his fringe away from his face with his fingers, tucking it behind his ears, and not giving much of a fuck as to quite how ridiculous he would inevitably look, because it was one in the morning, it was dark and there was no one around, and that was indeed just how Gerard liked it.

He soon reached the beach, making his way down to the tide and stopping himself at the thought of taking his shoes off and walking into the ocean, perhaps a little deeper this time; his head echoing with Frank's words about following him and how much truth it could possibly hold.

He stepped back for a moment, perplexed, because although Frank wasn't around, he cared about him, and he felt that in some weird way, they'd made some sort of promise to one another there, and Gerard felt obliged to keep such a promise.

He sat down on the sand just a few steps away from the tide instead, deciding to push all thoughts of Frank and the bottom of the ocean out of his mind, as he forced himself to focus on his camera and how clear the sky and the moon was that night, creating light and reflections upon the water and causing the waves to glisten as they rolled over the horizon - it was beautiful, but Gerard knew that the day when he wouldn't find beauty in the ocean would come some time in November, some time in November when he found himself at the bottom of a lake or perhaps in a coffin, with eyes closed tightly forever, never to see the beauty of the waves again.

The thought unnerved him for a moment, having never of thought of it that way, but he knew what was going to do come November 1st - there wasn't much questioning anymore. He snapped another photo of the ocean when the space beside him was suddenly filled, causing Gerard to jump a little.

"Hey," a familiar voice began, reaching out, but not quite touching Gerard, "it's me, Frank." Gerard made out a familiar smile in the darkness and eased up a little, shuffling back closer to Frank and taking another shot of the ocean before putting his camera down. "Didn't know you were a photographer." Frank added.

"I'm not really." Gerard blushed a little, thankful that in the darkness it didn't show, "I just take photos."

"A photographer is someone who takes photos, in the same way an artist is someone who makes art, or a smoker is someone who smokes. You get what I mean?" Frank asked, leaning into Gerard's side a little as he spoke.

"A photographer is someone who gets paid for taking photos-"

"That's a professional photographer. It's like, a smoker doesn't get paid to smoke- well, fuck I wish I did, but you know, I doubt anyone's going to pay me to fuck up my lungs." Frank laughed a little as he spoke.

Gerard smiled, nodding a little, "okay, I guess, I guess I'm a photographer then..." he paused, "I guess I'm an artist too. I tend to draw from my photos."

"Really?" Frank exclaimed, "that's so cool, I'd love to see your stuff some time, if you want, that is."

"I could show you it now, if you want," Gerard began, feeling suddenly so confident around Frank, "my house is like, one minute away, and it's only Kat in there, so you can just come over at one in the morning."

"That'd be nice, you know, because the rain is really fucking up my hair right now, and I really can't see that cute face of your as well when it's this dark, which is really tragic." Frank giggled, getting to his feet, and leaving Gerard to blush in the darkness before getting to his feet too.

"Why did you come out here if you hate the rain so much then?" Gerard asked.

"Truth be told, I was hoping to see you. I couldn't sleep and I was bored, and I like talking to you, so you were either here or in your house literally a minute away, and well, this really made my life easier than trying to break into your house to see you or something."

"Oh come on, that's a lie." Gerard laughed it off, blushing once more.

"I told you, Gerard, I would never lie to you."

-

The two made it inside to find the kitchen light on and Kat sat on one of the cabinets with their cellphone in their hands, and a can of beer beside them.

Kat hadn't quite noticed Gerard and Frank's sudden entrance, consumed in one text message displayed upon their phone screen, and just how the fuck they were supposed to react to that, however they soon found their attention draw to the sound of the front door slamming behind Gerard and Frank as the two made their way into the part of the kitchen illuminated with light.

Kat just looked at Frank, their eyes a little wider than usual, struggling to comprehend some form of response, because this wasn't Gerard, well not in the fact that Frank physically wasn't Gerard, which was also true, but Gerard hadn't been out there nearly long enough, and Kat had never expected him to have company, even if it was Frank.

Because it was becoming all too obvious that Frank was more than just another guy to Gerard, and really, Kat didn't quite know what to make of that at all.

"Oh... hey..." They got down from the counter, leaving their cellphone beside the beer as they made their way across the room to Frank and Gerard, "didn't think you'd be back so soon. You didn't tell me you were meeting Frank, either."

"Oh, it wasn't a planned thing." Frank explained, "I just came looking for him, I mean I couldn't sleep and Gerard's the only person I know who's going to be awake and sober at one in the morning, also I do quite like spending time with him, you know?"

"So you went through the whole town looking for him?" Kat narrowed their eyes, somewhat skeptical.

"No," Frank smiled,” I went to the beach and he was there, he's either there or at home, isn't he?"

Kat nodded, pulling their gaze across to meet Gerard's, and watching the way their brother seemed to look at Frank as if they placed all the trust in the world in him; it unnerved Kat, because this was all too soon and they didn't want to be negative, but they knew that this couldn't end well.

"It was raining so," Gerard piped up, "I mean, I don't mind, but Frank did and he wanted to see my art and photos and things."

"And you're okay with that?" Kat raised their eyebrows, directing the question at Gerard as if Frank weren't present.

"Yeah, he's Frank." Gerard said it as if it was just obvious, and it was perhaps only in that moment that Kat realised just what kind of bond had somehow formed between the two.

"Okay," Kat turned back to the countertop and the message, that they'd found themselves forgetting briefly as they fussed over Gerard, perhaps even excessively so, but with Gerard, the thing was, you had to care too much. "I need to talk to you at some point, though..." they trailed off, glancing between the cellphone and Gerard.

"What about?" Gerard asked.

"I'll tell you later-"

"Is it because Frank's here? Do you not like him or something, because you're being weird, Kat, you really are-"

"Don't fucking-"...tell me I'm being weird. Kat cut themselves off, biting their bottom lip, because fuck no, they were just worked up, and they didn't need to get Gerard in a state, and the contents of the message would just upset him, and Frank was here, and Frank wouldn't have a fucking clue what to do when Gerard curled up and didn't talk to anyone for the next few hours. Fuck, Gerard didn't even need to know, not yet, because Kat could still fix this, right?

They hadn't even replied yet.

"Don't fucking... make assumptions..." Kat continued, sighing a little, "it's nothing, I'm just overreacting."

"Kat?"

"You were right, I'm sorry, I'm just dubious about," they looked across at Frank, "well, it's different between you and Frank, isn't it?"

Gerard nodded, "yeah I think so."

"I'm sorry." Kat forced a smile, "his art is amazing, by the way, what he lets me see of it, anyway." They directed their last few words at Frank and turned back to the cellphone and the message upon it reading the following.

_'I'm sorry. I can't come back. Tell Gerard I love him. I love you too Kat. -Dad'_

And it was of course the use of their name that had Kat utterly baffled, because fuck, had it really taken this much? Had it really fucking been this hard to use the name Kat instead of Mikey? Or was he just trying to get on their good side, so they wouldn't hate him for this? Fucking probably, and Kat knew it as they downed a little more beer, but fuck this all, because he couldn't go; Kat had to convince him otherwise, for Gerard.

And not because Kat had ever felt any emotion towards their father at all, because they were absolutely stubborn in the fact that they hadn't.

-

Frank closed Gerard's bedroom door behind him, watching as the seventeen year old made his way over to the desk by the window and picked out one of several notebooks on top of it.

"It's beautiful," the words slipped from Frank's lips as he found himself fixated up the multitude of pictures stuck to Gerard's wall above his desk. Gerard jumped a little at Frank's voice, turning and following his gaze back to the photos. "The ocean." Frank added as explanation, "you also."

Gerard blushed again, sitting down on the bed with the sketchbook in his hands, "you're beautiful too, so you can stop making me blush, because it's not fair."

Frank laughed a little as he sat down beside Gerard, "I'm just letting you know, because I don't know if you've noticed, but every time I tell you that you're beautiful, you seem to believe it just a little bit more, and that's really fucking important."

"Are you brainwashing me or something?" Gerard asked, looking up at Frank with those beautiful fucking eyes.

"Of course not." Frank smiled, shuffling closer to Gerard and glancing towards the book in his hands, "so, can I see your art?"

"Tell me you're not brainwashing me." Gerard interrupted him, looking up at Frank. "I just... I get-"

"It's fine, Gerard, it's fine. I promise, I'm not brainwashing you. You are beautiful."

Gerard sat there for a moment, smiling to himself before leaning his head against Frank's shoulder, "you're beautiful too."

Frank blushed a little, "but speaking of beautiful things, your art."

-

"It's not that special." Gerard insisted, letting Frank take the sketchbook from his hands and biting his lip a little as he watched the younger boy open the book and smile.

"It's special." Frank glanced at Gerard, before moving his gaze back to the painted picture of the ocean, "you're really talented. You can just feel the ocean, you know?" Frank turned the page to reveal another very similar drawing, different only slightly in the angle and the colour of the sky. "You really like the ocean, don't you?" Frank asked as he turned to the next work.

"It's calming..." Gerard trailed off, fidgeting a little with his fingers, "I just- I just-"

"Hey?" Frank turned, sensing the anxiety suddenly present in Gerard's voice, "I didn't mean anything bad by that. The ocean is beautiful, like you-"

"Stop it." Gerard groaned, taking his sketchbook back and looking down at his art, "I really like drawing the ocean, you know?"

"Well, I'm pretty crap at art myself, but..." Frank smiled, leaning closer to Gerard, "but I get you."

Gerard smiled, closing the book and putting it to the side, before leaning back into Frank, this time just a little closer. "Thank you." He uttered.

"What for?" Frank asked, gently brushing Gerard's hair from his face, stop instantly as he felt Gerard tense up a little.

"It's okay," Gerard reassured him, "I just get nervous when I don't expect it," he paused as Frank's hand made its way back to Gerard's hair, "for understanding. That's what the thank you was for." He added.

"It's okay. You're welcome." Frank smiled, "can I ask you about Kat? Because they seem to think something's weird here, you know what I mean?"

Gerard nodded, "yeah, I don't know why. They said everything was alright though now didn't they? So I guess they changed their mind, which is really great, because I like you a lot, Frank, and I want them to like you too."

Frank paused, wondering whether to tell Gerard that he thought Kat was lying, Gerard deserved to know, but he just looked so peaceful and content in that moment that Frank reckoned he'd save it until the morning, or tomorrow, or something like that.

"I like you too, Gerard." Frank smiled, feeling Gerard lean into him further, and yes, on the inside, Frank was dying and stabbing himself in several places because fuck his entire existence because Gerard Way was seriously so fucking precious.

"I'm tired," Gerard let out a sigh, moving away from Frank a little and stretching as they did so.

"Do you want me to go?" Frank asked, moving to get to his feet, when Gerard reached out, placing his hand on Frank's.

"Please don't." His tone was quiet, but full of emotion, and Frank reckon his heart stopped just right about then.

"Okay." Frank smiled, turning back to face Gerard.

"Thank you." Gerard smiled, lying down on the bed, and gesturing for Frank to lie beside him.

Frank shrugged off his hoodie, putting it at the end of the bed, before moving next to Gerard, his face only centimeters away, and fuck, he'd really misjudged how close they were.

"Night, Frank." Gerard let out a sigh, rolling onto his back and in the process of doing so, moving even closer to Frank so they were touching.

"Night Gerard," Frank added, closing his eyes, and praying to god he had a PG-13 rated dream.

-

Frank awoke only several hours later to someone shaking his side, he jumped a little, rolling to the edge of the bed as he did so, forcing his eyes open to find Kat stood at the side of the bed with a frantic look in their eyes.

"Try not wake Gerard up, but mum's home, and you should go." Kat glanced at Gerard, curled up and sleeping peacefully.

Frank nodded, grabbing his hoodie and getting to his feet, glancing back at Gerard as he did so; he wanted to say goodbye or something, but he doubted that Kat would be particularly fond of the idea.

"Just go out the window," Kat gestured to the room across Gerard’s bedroom that overlooked the beach.

Frank glanced back at Gerard, before turning to Kat, "what really was it that you wanted to talk to him about?" He asked, narrowing his eyes a little. "I could tell you were lying. I didn't tell him that though."

"Good." Kat snapped, letting out a sigh. "It's... fuck... Frank, it's our dad, he's said he's not coming back and-"

"Gerard's really not going to like that." Frank let out a sigh, biting his lip, and remembering what he'd promised Gerard a few days ago.

"Yeah, so it's important he doesn't find out, and I'm going to try to fix it, okay?" Kat stressed, and Frank just nodded, not liking the idea of lying to Gerard, but if Kat could get their dad to change his mind then Gerard wouldn't have to be upset. "You really have to go now."

Frank nodded, making his way over to the window, "tell him I didn't just like leave when he wakes up, please?" Frank turned back.

Kat nodded, growing impatient. "Yeah, of course, please just go, okay?"

"Yeah, sorry." Frank turned back to the window, pushing it open and sliding through it, making his way to the ground as Kat closed it behind him.

He caught his breath for a moment, staring out at the ocean, before he noticed a piece of paper that had gotten stuck on his jacket as he'd made it out of Gerard's bedroom. He picked it up, wondering how he could give it back to Gerard, and deciding that he should just wait until the morning, until he really looked at the piece of paper.

Because it was within seconds that Frank found himself recognising a certain blue ink and a certain messy style of writing, and fuck, this must have just found its way here, by the wind or something, because Frank really could not stomach the idea of Gerard being the one to have written those fucking letters.

-


	11. Thursday, October 11th

Frank couldn't think straight, well he had somewhat of a problem with doing anything in much of a straight way in the first place, but this was a dilemma of a completely different nature entirely. To do with Gerard, to do with the letter, and in particular, just what the hell Frank was supposed to make of this, because _surely_ , Gerard couldn't have written this.

Fuck, Frank didn't even really think Gerard capable of thinking like this; he always seemed be weirdly innocent, although Frank knew he shouldn't think of Gerard like that, but still, he wouldn't put Gerard down as a suicidal kid, who'd written several drafts of a suicide letter over the past few weeks, which Frank had just happened upon, anyway, it couldn't be Gerard, of _course_ , it just _couldn’t_ be Gerard, because Frank knew that the only people Gerard was close to were Kat and himself, and the first letter had been addressed to a 'Mikey'.

So it was nothing to do with Gerard, of course, it must have just found its way there, maybe someone dropped it upon the beach and the wind had carried it towards Gerard's house, like the previous letter had been found beside tide with Lindsey.

He wondered whether to talk to Lindsey or even anyone about this, Gerard perhaps, just to confirm things, but he knew that he shouldn't upset Gerard, and he reckoned that if he did, Kat would actually decapitate him, and Frank really was _not_ in the mood for that. He could ask Kat about it, Kat knew a lot of people after all, therefore Kat might be able to direct him in the way of a Mikey, but he was beginning to doubt that Kat even liked him at all, and perhaps even despised him a little, which baffled Frank as he'd never done anything besides look out for their brother, and surely, Kat should have appreciated that?

He brushed thoughts of Kat aside, focusing upon the letter itself, and the familiar handwriting: smudged blue ink simply seeming to solely _tease_ him now, and found himself realising that he'd done little more than merely glance at the letter this time, just long enough to recognise the handwriting and assure himself as to the nature of it, not actually read the thing through.

Frank wondered if he could even stomach it, as he found half of his mind ready to read each word as if it was spoken directly from Gerard’s lips, but no, the notion of that was ridiculous, and Frank was determined to prove to himself that it wasn't Gerard, and he would do so, fuck, he'd make some stupid excuse to see Gerard's handwriting or for the guy to write some nonsense on his hand or something, _anything_ , just to settle his head, because he knew it, and he knew it made sense and he knew that in the very same way that it didn't, but fuck, he needed to know, and dear _god_ , he couldn't just _ask_ Gerard.

He bit his lip, really beginning to glance down at the letter as he sat in his bedroom, afternoon sun streaming in brightly through the window: a rare occurrence in consideration of the time of year and the place Frank lived in, before focusing his eyes open the letter before him and beginning to read.

_'I don't know what to do anymore. Because this is what I've always wanted, this is a solid fact. This is what will and has to happen, but now he's here, and now he cares, and now he's a reason not to, but still one reason stacked up against millions to, so really, he's insignificant. But he's not. He's the opposite of insignificant, and I'll miss him. I really think I will. And I'm sorry, I really am, I want to say sorry to you the most, but I wonder if I should write another for him. Another useless draft, another useless apology, because ink upon paper could never come close to explaining the way it makes me feel, the emptiness inside and the bittersweetness of it all. I barely even understand it myself. Tell him I'm sorry. Tell him he's beautiful. Tell him I said that. Tell him I-'_

The message cut off rather suddenly, as if the writer had been suddenly forced to stop writing, made evident in the slight smudge of ink as the letter came to a halt. Perhaps this was another draft, another letter the writer didn't quite like, another letter to throw out somewhere in the world, maybe that was what the writer was trying to do: get them out to someone, anyone, for someone to hear their story, but never to give enough away for someone to be able to stop them. Or perhaps it was nowhere near as poetic, perhaps this was another mistake, perhaps the writer changed their mind, about 'him', perhaps they weren't sorry anymore, perhaps they didn't think he was beautiful anymore.

Frank's first instincts that 'he' was this 'Mikey', but if this letter was addressed to Mikey, as one before had been, then it had to be someone else, god knows who, of course. Or maybe this was a letter to someone else, and the 'he' was Mikey. But truth be told, as with all of this, Frank didn't have a clue.

All he knew was that this _couldn't_ be Gerard, Frank didn't even reckon that Gerard looked like the kind of guy who wanted to kill himself, fuck, he had so much, he had Kat, he had Frank, he had the ocean, he had his art, he had his photography, he was beautiful, he had so much potential, and okay, it was becoming evident that there was something a little 'off' with Gerard, but Frank wouldn't ever think it to be this.

He was just biased because he knew Gerard and spent so much time with him, Gerard was very important, he thought about Gerard a lot, and hey, loads of trash can be found outside anyone's house, blown there by the wind.

Frank still needed to figure out who the writer of the letter was, of course, and that all lay in finding a certain guy called 'Mikey', and maybe he really would have to put more effort into looking and asking around, and not getting so caught up and distracted by Gerard, because that was what was happening here, _clearly_.

Frank knew that now.

-

Gerard hadn't gone to school that day; he couldn't stomach the idea of it, and it had all stemmed from that one letter: the one problem he couldn't even tell Kat about, because it would only lead to a million more.

Because it was gone, somehow, for some fucking reason, the letter in the corner of his room, hidden away, beside the window: another draft in blue ink was gone, and it wasn't a case of him losing it, because _fuck_ , Gerard didn't just lose things, and especially not things like this - it had to have gone somewhere, and someone had to have found it, and fuck, maybe someone was reading his fucking letter right now, trying to figure out what they shouldn't know, because fuck, they weren't _allowed_ to read it.

The idea made him sick.

No one was supposed to know; no one could know, and the notion of someone just being able to pick it up and _read_ it horrified Gerard, and what was indeed worse was that there was absolutely nothing he could do about it to stop someone, _anyone_ reading it.

Gerard couldn't do anything, at all.

He'd sat on his bedroom floor in silence, picking and biting at his nails until there was nothing left of them: completely vacant, frozen, eyes fixated away and at the window, the window and the ocean and the world out there that he no longer felt safe in, because someone out there knew, knew his secrets, knew what was going to happen, and fuck, they might even find him, they might even stop him, they might try to talk to him, they might try to 'fix' things.

But there was no need to fucking _fix_ things, because nothing was broken, because he wasn't broken, even if he felt like he was: it all made sense, everything made so much fucking sense, in his head at least, perhaps everyone else was just wrong. Perhaps everyone had just been wrong.

He leaned back against his bed, the first movement he'd really made in hours, as thoughts continued to whiz around his head, but to no end, to no solution, to no logic explanation for this: it was a dead end, and Gerard doubted he'd really ever get back up from the floor again, if he could ever face the world and anyone again.

He felt unsafe, scared, wanting to escape this all, like he had to do it now before it was all too late, but he _couldn't_ , because it was only October 11th, and he hadn't finished yet, fuck, he wasn't done yet; he hadn't finished Kat's letter yet, the proper one, a final draft, one that made sense, one that he felt safe leaving, and he hadn't finished pondering the notion of a letter to Frank yet, because Frank was special too, Gerard just wasn't sure how special, because Frank was very much a temporary person in his life - they would only know one another a month, and still Frank was Gerard's second most trusted person in the world.

Gerard concluded that Frank was special, if only to him, if only for the next nineteen days in which Gerard would live, Frank was special, and Frank mattered, and there were things Gerard wanted, perhaps needed to say, things he doubted he could say in person, in the next nineteen days, but still, he felt like there was no point in writing any form of letter anymore; he couldn't stomach the thought of losing another, because it'd just add more evidence, more to lead it to him, more that would expose him.

He'd need to keep it on him at all times, perhaps digitally, perhaps on his phone, although he knew it wouldn't feel the same, it wouldn't feel real, it wouldn't feel like blue ink, it wouldn't feel like the ocean, he couldn't close his eyes and picture it all - it'd feel like drifting away and irrelevance, just a bright little screen and sore fingers from typing too fast, but perhaps it was better that way: disconnected, like it didn't really matter, like every word was just that little bit less real.

Because Gerard had never really felt real: always dissociated, disconnected, separate and never quite living fully, as he seemed to tend to drift out and lose all grip on the world as he had today, just sitting there for hours, just existing, overthinking, overworrying, existing as if he was only mind tethered down to a body in a world that didn't matter.

Gerard sometimes wished he didn't have to die to make it all better, but it was the only and best solution he could think of, and it was already set in stone, and fuck, everything seemed to revolve around November 1st, and he expected that things would stay the same forever.

He jumped a little as his bedroom door open and Kat made their way inside, making sure to close the goddamn door behind them, because yes they had heard of doing so.

Kat had tried to get him out of bed, to get him to move, to get him to even eat, go to school, do _anything_ in the morning, but it had become pretty evident, that it just wasn't going to happen, and that today was one of those days, and Kat had wanted to stay with Gerard, to try and get him out of this state, but they really _had_ to go to school today, and they _hated_ that.

"Are you okay? Have you eaten anything?" Kat asked as they sat down opposite Gerard, attempting to hold his gaze, but Gerard was somewhat insistent upon avoiding eye contact and being vacant.

Gerard remained in silence, their eyes fixated upon the carpet flooring as they began to pick at their nails a little more violently.

"Gerard?" Kat tried again, leaning a little closer, hesitant to touch Gerard to try and get him to look at them, because they knew Gerard would only react badly. "Gerard, please, talk to me? Say _anything_. I don't care, just something, _anything_."

Gerard stopped picking at his nails quite so violently, his breathing beginning to calm a little as he found himself in thought for a few minutes before finally breaking the silence, "noyer."

Kat paused for a moment, because fuck, he really should learn some fucking French if Gerard was going to revert to it when he got like this. "Could you tell me what that means?"

Gerard shook his head, turning away again, back into silence.

And Kat just didn't quite know what to do, what to say anymore - how to fix this, how to make it better, how to make sense of their brother, and how to make him happy, because it seemed like only Frank was capable of that anymore, and Kat just didn't know what to think at all.

They sat back a little, considering asking Frank to come over, it was an ask just to try and get through to Gerard, to get through to a boy that had been sat still in silence for hours, and there was the fact that Frank didn't really know Gerard at all, sure he thought he did, but he most certainly didn't understand him as much as Kat did, and that wasn't Kat being jealous, that was just the truth.

They glanced back at Gerard, and began to wonder what could possibly be going through his mind, and how they might not ever know, and how that was always how it was going to be with Gerard: his thoughts always very much his own, and permanently so.

"Could you say anything else?" Kat asked, even if they were just going to receive another meaningless French word, they still found themselves trying, because what else could they possibly do. "Anything at all, Gerard." They continued, moving so they were sat beside him, following his gaze to the window, to the beach, to the ocean, and of course, they should have known. "Do you not want to go to beach?"

Gerard shook his head, biting his lip and looking down.

Kat paused, considering his response for a good few moments, because they knew for sure that Gerard wanted to spend just about every moment of his life down by the ocean. "Could you tell me why not? I mean, don't you like being down there? Maybe it'd make you feel better?"

Gerard shook his head before he could think, because he knew Kat had a point, because he knew the calming effect the water would always have upon him, and he knew that would help, but he knew he couldn't leave the house; he knew it wasn't safe anymore, he knew he couldn't face the world at all.

"Why not?" Kat continued, trying all the could to keep their patience, "I'm never going to be able to understand or to help you if you don't give me something to work with here."

Gerard sighed, leaning back against the bed, shaking his head once more, because maybe he didn’t need Kat's help, maybe he didn't need anyone's help at all, maybe he was just fucking fine. Maybe he was lying to himself, maybe he was okay with that.

"Do you want me to just go? Just leave you here for a while?" Kat asked, and Gerard waited a few moments before nodding, leaving Kat to let out a sigh as they gave up, running out of patience as they got to their feet, hoping Gerard would just get out of this state by himself, and soon, hopefully.

Kat turned as they reached the door, about to close it behind them, only to meet Gerard's gaze, and coming to what was the last resort, of sorts, "do you want Frank to come over?" They asked, biting their lip, not entirely sure what kind of response they even wanted from Gerard.

Gerard paused for a moment, seeming to think it over, before shaking his head, and turning away as Kat finally closed the door, and just like that, he was alone again, safe for the time being, safe from the world, safe from reactions and peoples and words and what they could mean, and of course what they couldn't.

Gerard exhaled, getting to his feet in a rather subconscious manner, his head spinning a little as he did so, his feet making somewhat of a beeline to the window, to grasp the white plastic of the frame and push it open, to smell the sea, to see the beach, to close his eyes and just pretend that everything would be okay, just pretend that November 1st could come without threat, and indeed that November 1st could come sooner.

Because it was in that very moment that Gerard realised he do _anything_ to drown himself, right then and right now, because with the letters torn away from him, November 1st seemed like much more of a second priority, but there was no leaving the house now, he was certain of that; he just _couldn't_ do it.

And with that in mind, Gerard fell back to the floor, knees pulled up to his chest as he began to cry, began to ache inside, and feel something, even if it wasn't pleasant for the first time that day.

-

Kat couldn't sit still, their head against their bedroom wall, teeth forever digging into their bottom lip as they texted Pete, and considered texting Frank, considered ignoring what Gerard had said, even though they knew that was the worst thing they could do, they were becoming rather desperate.

Or perhaps they should have just calmed down, like they knew they should, because Gerard got like this at times, and that was that, and perhaps it'd all be fine tomorrow, chances were he'd be fine soon, chances were he'd be fucking fine the very moment he saw Frank, and Kat tried their best to stop themself from despising that fact, but they couldn't, because they quite honestly couldn't pinpoint what was so fucking special about Frank Iero for the life of them.

They let out a sigh, leaning back on their bed as they put one headphone in, putting their iPod on shuffle as they rolled over, closing their eyes and letting the world fade out around them: not having intended to sleep but not at all opposed to the idea either - just something to take the time away, just a distraction, as things always were.

And as they began to drift off, they caught what was perhaps running water in their ears, ignoring it, brushing it off in the state they were in, because there was never supposed to be anything horrifying about the sound of running bathwater.

But today, but in that house, there was, even as Kat lay oblivious to it.

-


	12. Friday, October 12th

Everywhere hurt.

His throat burned: raw and damaged.

He'd been scared.

He felt like he'd been screaming for hours.

He hadn't made a sound.

And perhaps it would stay like that.

As he stayed like that.

Cold water.

So he could feel it.

But he'd still been scared.

He would always be scared.

Of everything.

Of everyone.

Of himself.

Of his mind and what it made him do. Of the letter and who had found it, and still, he lay there, eyes wide and raw: all of him, raw, burned out, drenched, wet hair, cold skin, the window open, ocean air, early morning, and not a sound in the world.

He'd taken pills, it seemed not enough.

Because he'd been scared, and this wasn't a question of choice anymore, this was something he had to do, and he didn't like it, he would never like it: it was all wrong, with weeks to go until November 1st, but he hadn't had a choice.

He'd taken the pills, he'd ran the bath, cold, cold like the ocean, cold like the lake, and closed his eyes as his head had began to throb, because he knew he shouldn't have taken so many pills, but he needed it work; he'd been _desperate_ for it to work, and still, it hadn't.

He'd gotten into the bath and leaned back against the tub, closing his eyes and drifting out of consciousness as the water had continued to run.

But here he was, raw, aching, all over, but still alive, and with no pills left, no second try, because this was wrong, he couldn't do it like this, he had to _force_ himself, and he looked down at the water around him, having flooded the bathtub a little.

He reached forward, turning the gentle stream of water off, and cringing a little as he felt water overflow from the tub as he moved forward, still alive, still breathing, still there, somehow.

He sat up, this time just letting the water overflow as he put his head in his hands and began to cry, because he knew that no matter how hard he tried he just _couldn't_ , he just couldn't do it like this not anymore, he couldn't leave knowingly, because before he'd almost tricked him into doing it, he'd been silent, he'd been desperate and he'd felt unsafe, because someone out there knew.

But now, come four in the morning, Gerard Way sat in the water, so cold around him and cried, cried because he couldn't think of what else to do: Kat was asleep, god knows where his parents were, and he was alone, so fucking _alone_.

He began to shiver, feeling seeming to move back into his body, and he came to realise just how cold the water around him had become, he groaned a little, his sobs becoming whimpers as he leaned forward, glancing up at the light and one insect, a moth or something perhaps, that had flown in from the bathroom window, fluttering around the light bulb like it was the only thing keeping it alive.

He wondered what his own light bulb really was, because the date was just a prolonging of this all, he wondered what kept him sitting there, what kept him unable to just pull his head underwater, to do it properly.

It wasn't the way it was supposed to be, he hadn't said goodbye, and perhaps Gerard just wasn't quite ready to let go quite yet, perhaps he needed to do it now, now as the world was asleep, he needed to go out and he needed to find the letter, the one that had gone, and if he found it or even just where it had gotten to then everything would be okay again, he could wait until November 1st and everything would be just like it was supposed to be.

Gerard looked back up at the moth and got up, reaching for the light switch, letting darkness fill the room, and watched as the moth made its way back out the window again, into the moonlight, always moving on; the moth didn't just sit in the dark, and that was exactly what was the difference between the seventeen year old boy who'd just failed in drowning himself and the small winged nocturnal insect, because Gerard, he sat in the dark, both literally and metaphorically, before finally pulling the plug and watching the bathwater drain away.

He sat there for a few minutes more, shivering as the water drained away from around him, until he finally found himself, sat there: knees pulled up to his chest, naked, freezing, and so fucking scared.

He got to his feet, stumbling a little and nearly banging his head against the wall as he got out of the bath, making some attempt at drying himself, not the most successful one, but an attempt nonetheless, before pulling his clothes back on.

When he'd taken his clothes off a few hours ago he didn't think he'd ever be putting them back on, and naked wasn't really the way he wanted to be found, but you couldn't be embarrassed once you were dead, and that was the logic he'd been following as he'd attempted to fuck this all up.

He met his reflection in the mirror and regretted doing so, biting his lip as he made his way out into the hallway, finding himself drawn to the bright light of the kitchen: it seemed to draw him in, a comfort of sorts.

He found himself stood there beneath the light bulb for a good few minutes, mesmerised by the light and existence as his whole body continued to ache: alive. He couldn't quite figure out how and why he was still alive.

He reached up towards the light bulb, his fingers burning as he touched it, and it took him just a little too long to pull his hand away. He thought of the moth, he thought of the light bulb, he thought of never having woken up again, he imagined the moth to be the first creature to see his dead body in that very bathtub. He imagined Kat to be the second, and suddenly everything inside him began to burn, because no, that wasn't how it was supposed to be.

Gerard jumped a little as the doorbell rang. His eyes widened a little, as he came to terms with the situation: the doorbell had rung at four in the morning, and still despite the oddity of the situation, he made his way over to the front door and opened it, perhaps expecting to see his mother, having forgotten her keys: drunk, and oblivious to the fact that Gerard was so close to having died right then and there.

But it wasn't his mother.

"You weren't at the beach, so... I... I hope this is okay, I mean, it's a really stupid time, but I... I wanted to see you, there's something I need to talk to someone about, I-"

Frank was cut off as Gerard reached forward, pulling him against his chest: tight, so tight, Gerard was so scared, and suddenly so scared to let go, and then, crying again.

"Hey..." Frank began, putting his arms around the seventeen year old, just a little confused, "what's this for?" He laughed a little, moving his hands to Gerard's hair, "hey, your hair's wet, did you _wash_ it? Gerard, I cannot believe this," Frank exclaimed, laughing a little.

Gerard pulled away, biting his lip as he let out a sigh, nodding.

"Are you okay?" Frank continued to ask, his tone changing a little as he took in Gerard's demeanor, and worry began to spread throughout his body.

Gerard bit his lip, turning away from Frank and shrugging, because the simple, and true answer was of course, 'no, I literally just tried to kill myself', but there was no way Gerard would ever say that aloud, not even to Frank, especially not to Frank.

"What does that mean?" Frank stepped forward, sighing a little as he felt Gerard move away from him at the same rate that he moved towards him, but still he respected Gerard's space and remained still after a moment. "Did something happen? Something bad?"

Gerard nodded, his mind fixated upon the letters and the matter of finding them, and just what he could say to Frank, because he certainly couldn't just ask him to leave, fuck, Gerard was unsure if he could even remember how to talk anymore.

Frank let out a sigh, desperately wanting to hug Gerard, but with him unhappy to touch him and acting in silence, Frank didn't quite know what do to in the situation. "I'm really sorry, Gerard. I want to hug you, but I get that you don't really want to."

Gerard paused, looking up at Frank, and those eyes, at this boy who he really did not deserve, at this boy who really didn't understand but was compensating with just being a fucking nice person. Frank was special, and Gerard was sick to his stomach at the notion of Frank making his way into Gerard's home and finding his body in the bathtub.

He looked up at the light bulb again, focusing upon the light, focusing upon Frank's face illuminated, focusing upon what was real right then in that very moment, but of course, in doing so, he couldn't detract his attention from the way everything seemed to be slipping from his grasp.

"Papillon de nuit." Gerard's words seemed to catch Frank by surprise, and of course the language they were spoken in came to shock him moments later.

"French?" Frank guessed, following Gerard's gaze up to the light bulb, "you sound beautiful speaking French, I mean you always sound beautiful, but you know. I don't have any idea what you're saying, though."

Gerard nodded, smiling at Frank as he pulled his gaze away from the light bulb.

"Is that the point?" He continued, pausing for a moment, "you're upset, you're nervous, or something, and this is easier than trying to make me understand, because maybe I won't? And that makes you nervous?"

"Je pense que tout me rend nerveux." Gerard continued, words beautiful upon his lips, devoid of meaning to Frank, but most certainly not of beauty. In fact, Frank seemed to see Gerard in this beautiful glow constantly.

"I guess nerveux is nervous." Frank blushed a little, "no clue about the rest though- wait, do you not want me to try and guess what you're saying?" Gerard firmly shook his head no at that. "I'm sorry. I didn't know you could speak French, you didn't tell me that." Frank continued, sitting down on a chair pulled up to the kitchen table.

Gerard waited a few moments, eyes fixated upon the light bulb, before joining him. "Il y a beaucoup de choses que je ne te dis pas." He bit his lip, finding an odd comfort in Frank's continued smiles and oblivion, because he could say anything, fuck, like this he could tell Frank the truth, and he wouldn't know, he would never know.

"Are you just saying random words or are you actually responding to me?" Frank continued to ask, a small smile on his lips.

"Nous allons avoir une conversation merveilleuse, seulement tu ne le sais pas.” Gerard explained, leaving Frank to laugh a little, growing evermore content in naivety, in just letting Gerard speak, because it certainly seemed better than him saying nothing at all.

Gerard was smiling, and for Frank that was what mattered.

"You totally just could have told me that I'm an asshole, but I'm still smiling at you, how does that feel?" Frank continued only to grin, leaning back in his chair and watching Gerard's lips move as he spoke what seemed to be an inherently beautiful language, only made a million times more beautiful by the boy speaking it.

"Tu n'es pas un connard, tu es magnifique et très spécial à mes yeux. Je ne m'en rends compte que maintenant." Gerard continued, watching Frank's face, watching his reaction, watching him unknowing to all meaning, and still comfortable, still trusting, still trusting in Gerard, letting him speak, say anything.

"Are you going to speak French for the rest of your life now? Or will this end? Any idea when?" Frank asked, not wanting to push it and upset Gerard, but of course he had no idea what he was responding with, so really, Gerard could be telling him how much he hated him right now, but Frank highly doubted it; Gerard didn't seem to be a hateful person at all.

Gerard shook his head to signify a clear no, before continuing in French, "Je ne sais pas. Je suis désolé, merci de tout faire pour essayer de comprendre. Tu es si spécial a mes yeux."

"That's good, I think the meaning behind your words is just as beautiful as the way you speak them." Frank continued, smiling, as Gerard pulled his head away, his expression beginning to falter, because he knew what he needed to do, he needed to tell the truth.

"J'essayais de me tuer un peu plus tôt, et tu me souris parce que tu ne le sauras jamais. J'avais tort. J'ai paniqué parce que j'ai écrit cette lettre mais maintenant elle a disparu et tout le monde peut la lire. J'ai peur, mais ta présence me rassure."

Frank nodded, no longer so focused upon the words coming from Gerard's mouth, but the way they were spoken, but the person speaking them, and how much Gerard meant to Frank.

"Je vais me tuer. Je suis tellement désolé."

Frank sat in silence for a moment, glancing at Gerard, "do you not have anything else to say?"

Gerard shook his head, biting his lip, and reaching for Frank's hand, holding it tight as he made his way down the corridor to his bedroom.

-

Kat woke up early, _again_ , which was seriously a habit they wanted to destroy with every fiber of their being, but the likelihood of doing so didn't ever seem to appear all that promising.

They just lay there in bed for a few minutes, letting a few glimpses of dawn light make its way through the blinds on their window, as they began to contemplate the world, Gerard, their mother, their father, everything, everything in their life that was giving them hell.

And then suddenly as their cellphone vibrated against the bed beside them, they found themself smiling in light of the one thing in their life that wasn't.

It was just a text message, and in fact, that wasn't what their phone had even notified them of, fuck, the thing had been insistent that they update to the new iOS and well, as far as Kat was concerned, the new iOS could go fuck itself when Pete Wentz had sent them a text message.

Because truth be told, just this one time, it seemed like things might actually work out with Pete, and honestly, Kat was just as shocked by that idea as the rest of the world was.

_'Can we meet today? I think I might even like spending time with you?"_

And in typical Pete style, the message had been sent at one in the morning, just a while after Kat had fallen asleep, and amidst the events of that night that Kat remained oblivious to: Gerard's darkest secret yet.

_'Sure. Not at six am though.'_

Kat responded, knowing that Pete wouldn't be up for another for hours now and that they shouldn't bother waiting for a response, as they got to their feet, making their way over to the window and pulling the blinds away, letting the dawn half illuminate the room, letting the day, letting the world in.

Because Kat did a lot for other people, they found themself often crippled with worry for Gerard, for Pete, for their parents, as much as they might hate their mother and father, they just couldn't help but care.

Perhaps this was where the early morning habit had arisen from, because come six am, none of the world was awake yet, and Kat felt themself alone in the quiet and dim light of their bedroom, at peace even, but they knew the moment they stepped outside they'd have to go find Gerard, have to go make sure he was okay, worry if he was speaking again and try to make sense of what could possibly be going on in his head.

And then, then they'd have to worry where their mother was, they'd have to find her drunk and passed out somewhere or already off to work, they'd find her just living, no longer giving a fuck, and when they'd been younger they'd even thought that a mother who didn't give a fuck and let them get on with life would be a good thing, but Kat knew now that it really wasn't the case.

And once they found themselves fairly certain that their mother hadn't died, they'd try again with their father, try again to get him back, try again despite their dislike for him, try again for Gerard, because in a way, Kat had come to realise that out of the many things they did, so many of them were for Gerard.

And still, they wanted to get away, they wanted to trust Frank with Gerard, but they weren't sure they could do that anymore - it had been the alcohol speaking, and Pete had known that, of course he had. Pete knew Kat well, and Kat loved to hate that.

With a sigh, they brushed their hair from their face and made their way out into the hallway, heading straight for Gerard's room: the door open just a little - _not_ how they'd left it the night prior. And as Kat made their way into their older brother's room, they found themself speechless at the sight: _Frank_ , of course.

The two of them, curled up in Gerard's bed, even after Gerard had made Kat aware of the fact that he allegedly didn't want to see Frank.

Kat stood there, staring for a moment, unsure of what to say, what to do, ready to just walk out and wait for the two to wake up on their own and for Gerard to sneak Frank out or something, and then perhaps they could avoid talking about this mess, but no, Frank rolled over in bed and opened his eyes, squinting in the light coming in from the hallway as he met Kat's gaze.

"Morning," Kat offered with a raise of their eyebrows.

"M-morning..." Frank stuttered out, blushing a little, glancing over at Gerard (still asleep), before sitting up at the end of the bed and continuing to address the younger of the two siblings, although due to the nature of the situation, it most certainly didn't seem as such.

"Is he talking?" Kat asking, cutting straight to the chase: no bullshit, fuck it was too goddamn early for bullshit.

"Only in French," Frank explained, "I don't know a word of French, but he had a lot to say. But that was last night and I have this feeling that he might be better now it's morning."

"You have a _feeling_?" Kat scoffed, resisting the urge to roll their fucking eyes at Frank. "You really don't know anything about Gerard do you?"

"I know that he was upset and he needed someone there for him, so really you should be pretty glad that I was awake at four and was there for him, because where were you, Kat? Asleep." Frank let out a sigh, realising how he was coming off, "you can't be there for him _all_ the time, and you shouldn't expect yourself to be."

"Don't fucking try to tell me shit, Frank, I have a better idea what's going on with my brother than you do-"

"Do you think maybe that perhaps the person who knows Gerard best, is neither you nor I, but Gerard himself?" Frank snapped, leaving Kat storming out of their brother's room in search of their mother.

"Thank you." Frank jumped a little, feeling a hand on his: _Gerard_.

-


	13. Saturday, October 13th

Kat was insistent upon the fact that they weren't fucking _cuddling_... but, Kat and Pete were laid out on Pete's bed, with Kat on their back, staring up at Pete's ceiling, and with Pete at their side, with one arm wrapped across Kat's chest.

The two laid there mostly in silence; Kat having slipped away from the stupid family traditions that usually occurred upon weekends with now only a depressed mother sat in their kitchen, comfort eating - she hadn't even acknowledged their presence as they'd made their way out at something like eleven in the morning, making their way directly to Pete's, needing to clear their head, spend some time with someone that wasn't Gerard.

Because as much as they _of course_ loved Gerard, he was getting a little trick to handle as of recent; Kat couldn't quite pinpoint it, and instead had just opted to keep an extra close eye on their brother, which they really weren't doing now, but Gerard was at the beach, he only seemed happy at the beach, content sat before the ocean, and Kat reckoned he'd be okay, especially since fucking _Frank_ seemed to be at their house every single fucking minute now.

Kat liked Frank, sure, but Kat didn't like the guy enough to see him in their brother's bedroom whenever they went in there, and no matter how much they liked the guy, they'd never like him enough to trust Gerard with him fully.

But of course, neither Frank nor Gerard seemed to understand that, and Kat's perfectly reasonable causes for concern, because well, fuck, Kat didn't even think Frank knew about Gerard's autism, and the kind of messes he'd been in before; Gerard wasn't exactly a very open person, after all.

"You came here to get your mind off him, but you're just laid here, _worrying_ , about him, obviously, because he's all you ever worry about," Pete pulled Kat back to reality with a painfully accurate observation, "fuck, I think he's the only thing you ever care about; you have this whole I don't give a fuck attitude, but then there's Gerard, and I think, in a weird way, you need him, because otherwise you'd have seriously fucked your life up by now."

Kat didn't respond for a good few minutes, instead spending the silence letting their eyes flicker across Pete's wall, fixating upon band poster after band poster, and then of course, the small corner of Pete's room that was dedicated to more personal items: pictures of him and his family, pictures of his friends - people Kat didn't know nor care for, and then one picture of him and Kat, from a year or so back, from when they thought they really had something, but it had fucked up, of course, as things with the two of them always did.

And as what they had right now inevitably would, and Kat knew that, fuck, Kat thought of that in every happy moment they spent with Pete, because sure, right now, Pete Wentz seemed like the only person in the world that really understood them, but they'd thought that the last time, and the time before, and the time before that, and each time without fail, they'd been proved wrong, and well, Kat wasn't much of an optimist.

"I'm worrying about something different now, if that makes you feel better." Kat added, coming to realise they'd just left Pete hanging in silence for almost three minutes now.

Pete laughed a little, moving his arm away from Kat's chest and up to their face, brushing hair from it in a way that didn't fail to have Kat blushing within seconds, "what are you worrying about?"

"Stuff-"

"Oh don't give me that bullshit, Kat." Pete let out a sigh, "you worrying doesn't make me happy, and you know what makes it worse, not knowing what it's about," he changed his tone to something a little calmer, "I thought you said you could talk to me about things."

"I can, I just...." Kat let out a sigh, stretching a little, and totally not moving closer to Pete as they did so. "I'm worried about us, I'm thinking about you and I, and I'm thinking about us right now, and this bed, and that picture on your wall from last year, and how every time it fucks up, and how, I realise I'm just waiting, fucking waiting for this to fall apart again."

"Who says that just because something has happened a few times before that it's gonna happen again?" Pete asked, moving closer to Kat.

"Probability," Kat responded, scoffing a little, "but then again, it's not like you listen in school, is it?"

"Point." Pete laughed a little, "there, Kitty Kat, you have a point-"

"Do _not_ fucking call me that." Kat groaned, glaring at Pete as they did so, "I'm your fucking pet."

"Yeah, you're my boyfriend- well I suppose we never, you're not really that either."

"Yeah, Pete, I'm not your _boy_ friend, because I'm not a fucking boy." Kat snapped, rolling their eyes, knowing fully well that Pete didn't do it on purpose, but still, they had very little patience as it was, let alone for people who misgendered them.

"Fuck, sorry, I just-" Pete exclaimed, biting his lip a little in panic, "I didn't mean it, you know I respect your gender, I... I mean, I don't even know what the word for boyfriend is for non-binary people."

"I know you didn't mean it, I just..." Kat shook their head - there was no point making some stupid fucking argument out of this, "I think it's like datefriend, although that sounds a bit crap, and partner sounds a bit formal-"

"Bae?" Pete offered with that memeloving grin upon his lips.

"Bae sounds fucking ridiculous." Kat shook their head in disbelief.

"So you won't be my bae?" Pete pouted, looking severely upset by the situation.

Kat laughed a little, pausing for a moment, and preparing themself fully to make a stupid decision, "I'll 'date' you if you can come up with a good word for me."

" _Motherfucker_." Pete cursed, his eyes widening a little as he began to comprehend exactly just what Kat had just said. "Are you serious?"

"You're not calling me motherfucker, try harder-"

"Oh, you know what I meant," Pete rolled his eyes, blushing a little, as he glanced at Kat, and struggled to comprehend exactly what had just happened. "Fuck, you're serious, aren't you?"

"No, I'm not Sirius, I'm Kat." And it was then that Pete gave Kat a seriously not PG-13 look as he cursed the English language's inability to accommodate gender neutral terms, because he seriously felt like he was being cockblocked by a dictionary and motherfucking gender roles right now.

-

Somehow today, being alone wasn't _quite_ so comforting as Gerard was used to it being, and somehow today, the ocean was just the _ocean_ , nothing more, nothing less, water, waves, cold, too cold around his ankles.

Kat was out, Gerard didn't quite know where, he reckoned his mother did, but he reckoned he couldn't really face her either; she'd of course changed drastically since he'd left, his father, and Gerard didn't know if it was for the worse or the better, he just knew that his father shouldn't have left like that.

And his mother shouldn't have hit Kat, and Kat shouldn't have yelled at them quite so much, and he shouldn't have gone out with Frank, and this mess all shouldn't have happened, but it did, and he felt helpless.

He'd spent hours at the beach, a last ditch effort in hope that he'd see Frank, but he'd spent those hours alone, and really Gerard had never anticipated this, but here he was, growing tired of his own company, and perhaps even considering going out of his way to solve that problem, to talk to someone, someone who mattered, find Frank perhaps, or Kat, or maybe even make conversation with his mother, but he doubted that the latter would be much of a good idea.

Gerard wasn't really all that good with ideas, living more so in fiction and theory than fact and practice, and that hadn't really shown to be all that much of a problem until he found himself like this, alone and questioning everything, because for some reason, the sea didn't seem the same miraculous blue shade it had once been, and just a blue grey: dull, faded out, like everything else.

And like that, Gerard's head was spinning as he pulled his knees up to his chest, sat alone on the beach, staring out across the ocean as if he was waiting for someone or something, someone or something that seemed as if it would never come, but desperate being lonely, Gerard wasn't exactly _alone_ , having caught the sound of footsteps against sand the very moment they came into earshot.

They were, however, unfamiliar in nature, the person making the footsteps walking at an oddly slow pace: calm, yet thought out, precise in an odd way. It wasn't Frank or Kat - Gerard knew that for sure, after all, Kat would have already shouted his name, and Frank would have been sprinting to his side the moment he caught sight of him, not that Frank particularly minded that, of course.

After a few moments passed, Gerard finally found him curious: curious enough to turn, curious enough to lay eyes upon the person making their way across the beach, and curious, curious to discover that although this person wasn't familiar, they weren't a stranger.

"Gerard?" He asked: the person, quickening his pace as he made his way closer to the seventeen year old. "Are you alright?" He continued to ask, sitting down beside him.

"Y-yeah..." Gerard stuttered out, twitching a little, and struggling to focus properly upon his face, having recognised him from his voice already. "Yeah, I am, Mr McCracken."

"That's good," the teacher smiled, following Gerard's gaze across the ocean, leaving Gerard unsure whether he wanted him here, but certain that he needed some kind of company; he just wasn't quite sure whether his teacher was really someone he could talk to, of course, Mr McCracken himself had insisted that Gerard could talk to him, but still, it felt weird. "You can call me Bert outside of school, you know?" He continued to add.

Gerard bit his lip, nodding a lot, "okay." He turned his gaze to his feet, to the shoes upon them, to the tide, to the way things didn't quite seem to make sense anymore. "I think maybe I'm not quite so alright." He found himself admitting before he could quite stop himself.

"Oh?" Bert raised his eyebrows, meeting Gerard's gaze with that odd kind of teacherly concern.

"Yeah..." Gerard trailed off.

"How so?" Bert continued to ask, admitting only to himself that despite the fact he really did genuinely want to help, he wasn't really all so sure as to what to do in his situation.

"Just... well, my parents split up: my dad walked out like last weekend, things have been a bit messed up since then..." Gerard let out a sigh, "I don't know if I really want to talk to you about it, though."

"Oh, that's okay too." Bert exclaimed, his tone a little nervous, "I mean maybe we really shouldn't talk outside of school, honestly, I don't know."

Gerard shrugged a little, "I don't know if I want to be alone, though, I just, I don't know what's going on inside my head a lot and right now there's no one to make me feel better."

"Why not?" Bert found himself asking before he could stop himself.

"I don't know where Frank or Kat is - that's my best friend and my sibling. I haven't really known Frank all that long but I think he's the best person I've ever met." Gerard blushed a little as he spoke, "he really tries, always tries his best with me, and seems to treat me like a human being... a lot of people don't do that-"

"Why on Earth would they not?"

"Well, don't you know about my... I mean you're a teacher, that's on file, isn't it?" Gerard asked, stumbling over his words as he spoke.

"What? Gerard, I don't know what you're talking about-"

"I'm autistic, I think I'm depressed too, well, I mean I'm probably depressed, but what does that even mean? What does _any_ of this mean or matter? Nothing's going to matter soon."

"Why not?"

"Everything is temporary, it's all going to end soon. Life is short, you know?"

"You matter though, Gerard, _you_ matter. Not what's going on in your head-"

"But I _am_ , what's going on in my head, Mr McCracken, aren't I? I am my brain, and my brain is what's going on in my head. You don't understand, no one really does."

"You have to _let_ them, Gerard-"

"What if I don't _want_ to?" Gerard exclaimed, getting to his feet, and running back to his house, blocking out what Bert could possibly yell after him - it was all a mistake, all of it was a mistake; he should have never opened up to him.

He then decided that he should never open up to anyone, because no one could ever quite fathom understanding.

-

Lindsey probably had entirely too much patience for Frank, especially as he found himself interrupting her well deserved Saturday off sobbing over various band members on the internet, with every little concern known to man.

She probably deserved like some sort of friendship award for this, or maybe just the knowledge that she was a nice fucking person and actually gave a shit that one of her best friends had something fucking scary on his mind.

Something scared that involved the boy called Gerard who she'd of course heard far too much about.

Lindsey and Frank were sat on her windowsill, Lindsey not wearing very much in the way of clothes - just an oversized shirt, but Frank was gay as hell, and wasn’t' a fuckboy so it was fine.

"I think I love him." Frank had pretty much said out of nowhere, and Lindsey was perhaps overly thankful for the invention of glass, or even just that she'd closed the window because if not she was about ninety percent sure she would have fallen out of it at that point.

"You gotta fucking tell him." Lindsey managed to utter in response once she'd recovered from the initial shock of it all.

"It's a bit _harder_ than that." Frank let out a sigh, "I think there's something going on with him, but I don't know what - he doesn't talk about things, not even to his sibling, and they're really close. I just... I feel like there's this connection with us, and it sounds like I'm overworrying but I think there’s a chance that the letters I've been finding could be connected to him-"

"Frank, they're just as likely to be connected to him as they are to be connected to anybody." Lindsey reminded him with a comforting kind of 'I know shit' smile. "You never really told me what those letters said," she went on to say, leaving Frank to shudder a little, "what _are_ they about?"

"They're about the kind of shit that makes me wanna sell half my fucking organs to be sure he didn't write them." Frank bit his lip, that blue pen and that fucking handwriting forever haunting his mind.

"Talk to him. About this, about your feelings." Lindsey said what was of course the most obvious option.

"I just... you don't _know_ him, Lindsey, it's..." Frank let out a sigh, "I don't know exactly what it is, but like he's, as he put it 'fucked up in the head', and it's not like he's 'dangerous' or 'insane' or something like that, I just get that he's a little bit different - he's not comfortable talking about things, and then the other night he only spoke to me in French because he couldn't quite bare for me to understand what he was saying. I don't understand him, I really don't, but I care about him more than I care for things to be easy."

"Maybe it's something like anxiety?" Lindsey offered  after a moment, "I mean, maybe you should ask his... sibling? Or just him, honestly."

"You don't _get_ it, you don't get him, you just-" Frank let out a sigh, biting his fingernails, "I'm not even making excuses here, it's just Gerard, and I _really_ don't want to make him uncomfortable, and those letters, I just, that's some fucking sensitive stuff. You'd understand if you met him, if you read the letters."

"Then let me understand, because come on, Frank, let's be fucking _real_ here, I'm far more rational thinking than you are, and you really do seem like you need my help, and I'm not here to judge your not quite boyfriend, either, I just _give_ a shit." And Lindsey did, because Lindsey was a fucking nice person, and Lindsey did quite honestly want to see just what all the fuss with this Gerard really was.

Frank shrugged, blushing a little, "I don't think he's very comfortable around new people."

"If he trusts you and you tell him that I'm trustworthy then surely that might help?" Lindsey asked, "and meet him somewhere where he feels safe, look, I think he can manage one of your friends if he goes to school on a regular basis."

"I guess." Frank nodded, now chewing nervously upon his bottom lip, "maybe I should ask Kat, I don't know, I mean, I don't think Kat even _likes_ me - Kat's their sibling, by the way. Kat gets weirdly fucking protective over Gerard."

"More than you do?" Lindsey asked, eyebrows raised a little in disbelief.

"Yeah," Frank nodded, laughing at himself a little, "more than I do."

"I want to meet him." Lindsey continued, not even just to assess whether he loves you or not or 'understand' him, "I just, I want to meet him because you never fucking shut up about him and I quite honestly want to see what all the _fuss_ is about!"

"Don't you fucking dare 'steal' him." Frank retorted, a blush hugging his cheeks.

"I wouldn't dare: I think you'd try to kill me or something," Lindsey laughed a little, watching as Frank's face turned a lovely, fucking flattering shade of red. "So, those letters?"

"I have them saved on my phone, both as photos and typed up notes, not that I'm weird, I just... I don't even know if it's him, but whoever it is, I just..." Frank let out a sigh, not knowing quite what to say, "it's just... it's horrible..."

"What kind of letters are they?" Lindsey asked as she reached for Frank's phone, feeling his hand shake a little as she took it from him.

Frank swallowed, hard, knowing fully well that Lindsey was going to find out regardless, "su-..suicide letters, notes, I just... _fuck_..."

"Fuck," Lindsey reiterated, her eyes widening a little as she began to read over the first letter, "you know there's no proving it's him right now, it could _easily_ be someone else, Frank, couldn't it?"

"Yeah," Frank nodded, leaning back against the wall, "I just, I don't know how to approach this subject, I just don't know what to do at all. I just _can't_ lose him, and in the same way I feel like he can't lose me."

-


	14. Sunday, October 14th

The thing was that Kat was pretty sure that they were starting to ruin their life, and that they were indeed more than complacent with a such a realisation, because their method to life ruining was a little less than conventionally but by no means unexpected, because the cause of all this chaos in their life was indeed the boy with too much eyeliner and the fringe that needed cutting lying in bed next to them.

It was only then that Kat was realising just how much time they were spending with Pete, especially as of late, but it was with that very realisation that the one detailing how they could do very little in regards to changing the aforementioned came, because truth be told, they felt like they were falling for Pete.

And this was never supposed to happen, but truth be told, Kat couldn't see it any other way, but it was in the very same way that Kat saw the inevitable: the heart break, the fuck up, the end of this all, and it was the present that they had to treasure, early morning moments with Pete by their side and very little besides him on their mind.

Because it was moments like these that they found themself feeling as close to peaceful as they would ever be inside, because as much as they hated to admit it, because there was no way around just how sappy it sounded, Pete just seemed to make _everything_ okay, and Kat didn't know what to do with that knowledge besides embrace it, and embrace Pete, even if that meant accidentally slapping him across the face and startling him enough to wake him up at something close to five in the morning.

Kat really needed to stop waking up so early all the time.

"Wha-" Pete grumbled, rolling over to face Kat, eyes widened in confusion, "the fuck's happening?" He asked, attempting to focus on Kat but finding himself unsuccessful in doing so.

"Sorry," Kat let out a sigh, "accidentally slapped you across the face-"

" _Accidentally?"_ Pete raised his eyebrows at that, "is that so?"

"Yeah," Kat nodded, "I was just trying to put my arm around you, actually."

"Now that's sweet, but I think you gave me a nosebleed-"

"Oh fuck!" Kat's eyes widened, sitting up in bed and reaching for the lamp on Pete's bedside table, and as the light filled the room, they found that Pete did indeed have a small trail of blood coming from his nose. "I'm really sorry-"

"Are you now?" Pete laughed a little, rolling his eyes and reaching for the tissues he kept on his bedside table for totally innocent and undisclosed reasons, and dabbing the blood coming from his nose.

"Sorry for waking you up, you tend to like to sleep in." Kat shuffled closer to Pete, who was now probably sat up in bed as he attempted to wipe the blood from his nose.

"And how early do you wake up on average? Like do you seriously just watch me sleep for hours?" Pete found himself asking.

Kat shrugged a little, nodding. "Yeah, I mean, I don't want to wake you up."

"Wake me up from now on." Pete added, "just maybe not with a nosebleed, okay?"

"With what then?" Kat asked, eyebrows raised, "I'm taking suggestions now."

"Blowjob? Handjob? Anything like that-"

"You're gross." Kat rolled their eyes, leaning into their boyfriend's side as he finally managed to stop his nose from bleeding and wipe away the blood.

"It was a perfectly reasonable suggestion, don't you think?" Pete tried all he could to look seriously offended, but he wasn't really quite so successful in his endeavors.

"I think you don't just have those tissues by your bed for nosebleeds." Kat smirked a little, "that's what I think."

"Oh come on, Kat, like you've never jacked off in your life-"

"Way to fucking cut to the chase!" Kat exclaimed, their eyes widening, "I tend to go have a fuck, you know? Not anymore though - I'm not cheating on you, obviously."

"We could have a fuck... if you want..." Pete suggested, leaning into Kat's side, "I mean, or we could play cards against humanity- whatever you want, I just don't think I'll be able to sleep after such a traumatising experience and we've got a few hours to kill haven't we?"

"You say it so casually." Kat laughed a little, brushing their fringe from their face.

"Come on, Kat, you're hardly a thirteen year old virgin, are you? It's a fuck-"

"But it's not _just_ a fuck, is it?" Kat let out a sigh, meeting Pete's eyes, "it can't be just a fuck, because you and I... we're... it's more than just that, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Pete nodded, biting his lip.

"Thing is..." Kat trailed off, looking out into the darkness of Pete's bedroom, "I have these feelings for you... _strong_ feelings, and there's no way it's just a fuck, and I hope to God it's the same for you."

"Course it is." Pete added after a moment, "it's words, I phrased it wrong, it's early, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Kat nodded, just a little uncertain.

"Fuck, Kat, you know... you know I care about you, come _on_ , don't be stupid about this-"

"I'm stupid now, am I?" Kat raised their eyebrows in disbelief.

"That's not what I meant, I-" Pete protested, before giving up and letting out a sigh, leaning towards Kat and pressing a kiss to their lips, "it's early, I'm not good at words and sentences."

"I gathered."

"Can we just... see how this goes?"

"Yeah," Kat nodded, "yeah," they concluded before pressing their lips back to Pete's, and Pete reckoned that in the scheme of things, this just about made up for Kat elbowing him in the face and giving him a nosebleed, which was not exactly the most pleasant way to start a day, _this_ , however, was.

-

The day was Sunday and there was no reason to be awake at all.

Gerard had just laid there in bed for what he knew, only due to the clock on his wall, to be hours now.

Because this Sunday he had no father sat at the end of his bed, telling him he _had_ to get up, and it was only as it became reality that he realised that he most certainly did not prefer this reality.

He wanted his dad to come back and his mum to give a shit again, and he wanted to be forced out of bed, he wanted to go to church, he wanted Kat to argue, he wanted Kat to be here, and he wanted that he'd never gone off with Frank.

He knew he wanted what had been horrible, and he knew that it was just missing these things that made them desirable, but still, he knew that this wasn't the right kind of different, even though things hadn't been right before.

He wondered if perhaps there was no right, no easy answer, no way to fix this all, and he wondered if there was any hope in his father coming back anymore; Kat had insisted that there was, but he reckoned Kat was doing a better job of kidding themself than they were doing Gerard.

But still, he couldn't blame for trying, much in the same way that he couldn't blame them for getting out of here on a Sunday: out of the house that was all too quiet all the time. The silence was beginning to ache in his ears; the sound of nothing, devoid of hope, but full of the feeling, the realisation that different did not necessarily mean better, and that change and progress were not the same thing.

He wanted his father back. He didn't care much for the man as a person, but he wanted him back because he was his _father_ , and he wanted someone to yell at him, he wanted something to happen, he wanted to get rid of the silence and the ability to stay inside his own head for so long, because Thursday night and Friday morning shouldn't have happened, but it did, and Gerard couldn't change that now.

He couldn't change anything now.

He couldn't fix anything now.

He rolled over, pulling the cover up over his head and laid there for another hour or so, letting the world and time pass by around him, as if he was alive but not really living, present, but not really _there_ , just a boy curled up in his covers, just a boy scared to pull them away from his face, just a boy scared of what difference could be.

Just a boy scared of how close a certain date was.

Just a boy scared of how far a certain date was.

Just a boy scared of time itself. Scared of everything, even. Scared of himself, scared of people who cared, scared of people who didn't, scared of buses, scared of school, scared of teachers, scared of his mother, scared of his father, scared of what Kat thought of him, scared of busy streets, scared of meaningless afternoons, scared of odd socks, scared of raincoats, scared of sleeping, scared of waking up, scared of Sundays, scared of weekdays, scared of Saturdays too, scared of big meals, scared of eating too little, scared of eating too much, scared of knowledge, scared of ignorance, scared of noises, scared of silence, scared of chipping paint, scared of living, scared of doing it wrong, scared of the ending, scared of the middle, and scared of the beginning too.

Perhaps the one thing he didn't find himself scared of was death, not anymore.

He jumped, nearly falling out of bed as the silence was suddenly sliced in two with the crash and bang coming from the kitchen: a plate now broken, now a mess on the floor, having slipped from his mother's hands.

He stumbled to his feet, shaking a little as he pulled a hoodie on and made his way out of his bedroom, because try as he might, Gerard couldn't shake the part of him that _had_ to see what it was, even if at the back of his mind, he was well aware of the likely explanation, he just wasn't satisfied as long as it wasn't certain.

His mother looked up as he made his way into the kitchen, her eyes meeting his in a sympathetic kind of way, and the two shared the odd realisation that they'd hardly exchanged so much as a word in the past week.

"Just dropped a plate, honey, nothing to worry about," her tone was shaky, uncertain, overly cautious, different, raspier, but still inherently _hers_.

Gerard sat down at the breakfast bar, watching as she attempted to sweep the plate up and put what remained of it into the trash. He found himself biting his nails as he watched her do so, every piece she seemed to miss sending him biting further down, reality slipping away from him as he found himself unable to pull his gaze away from one piece under the counter that she'd missed.

"Gerard?" She spoke, grabbing his attention: eyes wide, concerned, snapping up to meet hers. "Your finger's bleeding," she gestured towards his index finger on his right hand, where he'd bitten the nail down enough to cause it to bleed, "you really shouldn't bite your nails."

"You missed a piece under the cabinet." Gerard pointed towards the piece of broken plate, speaking almost as if he simply hadn't heard her in the first place.

"Oh, I did," she turned, picking it up and putting it into the trash, before turning back to her son and noticing how, despite the bleeding he was now aware of, he continued to bite at his nails. "Don't bite your nails, honey. D-do you want something for-"

"Dad's not coming back." Gerard pulled his fingers from his mouth and met his mother's gaze, "Kat thinks he is. Kat thinks that they can get me to believe he is, and Kat thinks that's gonna make things better. It isn't. He's not going to come back. So, Kat and I, we haven't got a father anymore, just you."

"Gerard, I don't think you can make assumptions-"

"He's not coming back so I think you need to start acting like our mum again, because we suddenly went from having two parents to no parents, that's what it feels like. Kat's gone out now, do you even know where they are?" Mrs Way shook her head. "You should. You can't just stop being our mother - that isn't how it works."

"That's not what I was doing- I'm upset too, he's my _husband_ , Gerard... was my husband... I have feelings too, you know?"

"So he's _not_ coming back?" Gerard asked, picking up on the use of past tense in his mother's words.

She shook her head, biting her lip, "he's gone to stay with his sister in Florida. Says it's for a while, but you know what he's like."

"Do you still love him?"

"More than anything I do. Of course I do. Losing him, even the notion of doing so is the worst thing in the world, and now it's real, it's real and it's my fault." She paused, turning away, "you'll understand that someday."

But Gerard wondered if perhaps he already did.

-

Frank found himself sat before the shoreline, alone, having come for Gerard but having stayed for the ocean, because he found a piece of Gerard in it: in the bottle greens and dull blues, in the white water splashing against rocks and the waves upon the horizon. He closed his eyes, letting the ocean consume his senses, letting everything else fade out, like background noise.

Just salt water, air, his lungs, in and out, _breathing_ , and the ocean, cold against one hand stretched out into the tide: the tide coming in, darkness, peace, and understanding, quiet, yet never silent, loud but never noisy. Serene. So to speak, and in that moment, Frank wondered if he perhaps understood, because this was calm inside, everything coming to stop and the sound only of water crashing gently against the shoreline: so much water, water going on forever, and him, small, tiny, insignificant in comparison.

Something so beautiful, something mysterious, unknown, something that could kill him, but only if he let it, and like this, it was something that understood the mess in his head, the letters, the blue ink, the mysterious identity, what it all could mean, and hope, hope despite this all, and love, feelings, a connection between him and Gerard, and how somehow, in two weeks, Gerard Way had become the most important thing in his life.

Perhaps that was unnerving, or perhaps there was just nothing that made quite as much sense. Because it was just _Gerard_ , and his hazel eyes, long eyelashes, cute little pixie nose, and crooked smile, it was his long black hair, it was his hands never quite still anymore, it was his voice, unsure, it was him, imperfect, yet beautiful.

And Frank wanted him here right now; he wanted to speak to him, he wanted everything just to be simple, he wanted to just ask, just to talk openly about the letters, just not to be scared, but he was unsure: unsure as to whether he could do it, because somehow this had become a question of his nerve and not a question of Gerard's life.

Because it could be.

And Frank knew that, if only at the back of his mind.

Because truth be told, Frank was scared, scared like Gerard was, except all his fears seemed to center around Gerard, focusing on fucking up, on losing him, because it was become clear that the worst case scenario for Frank was simply one without Gerard in it.

And he wasn't quite sure if he was ready to admit to himself as to quite what that could possibly mean, and he didn't have to, not _yet_ anyway, so for the time being, for the time spent with his eyes closed by the ocean, it was all okay, because like that, he found himself distant, he found himself breathing, but breathing ocean air, and thinking, but thinking only of the boy who often sat in his place, and living, but living only for that very same boy.

"You're going to get wet. The tide's coming in," Frank jumped a little, his eyes jerking upon as he turned his head, setting his gaze upon no other than Gerard Way himself: stood up, a small smile upon his face, his eyes bright, gaze fixated upon Frank, the wind blowing his hair into his face and making a mess of it all, sleeves of a black hoodie rolled up to his elbows, and black skinny jeans that looked a little too big on him.

"You're beautiful." Frank found himself uttering before he could think, and as Gerard rolled his eyes, laughing a little, Frank stumbled to his feet, blushing a little. "It's true," he added as he got to his feet, "don't know why I came out with that so abruptly, but it _is_ true."

"You were thinking about me." Gerard's words held a certain certainty: an air of confidence and self assurance that was almost foreign to his tongue. "The whole thought to mouth barrier failed you there. But it's quite nice to know it's genuine."

"Of course it's genuine." Frank exclaimed, almost in offense at Gerard's words. "I don't lie to you - thought we'd gotten that straight."

"I know." Gerard smiled, tucking his hair behind his ears, "just, _interesting_. What were you doing here, anyway?"

"Looking for you," Frank reckoned there was little point in lying, Gerard already knew how much trash he was for him. "You seem different today," he noted, raising his eyebrows a little, "happier?"

"Yeah," Gerard smiled, biting his lip, "I think everything's gonna be alright!" He went on to exclaim, "my mum's gonna get it together now. Before, she was just... I don't know... it was weird, it's not the same since... since my dad left, but I think we might manage again now, at least for the time being, I mean, things always have to end, don't they?"

"Not _always_." Frank smiled a little, the two walking down the beach, close to the tide.

"But most of the time." Gerard continued, "one day this will all end, and it won't matter anymore, so it's all _okay_."

"Just because it ends doesn't mean that it doesn't matter anymore." Frank held Gerard's gaze with an odd kind of caution, as if every word was weighted, worth the whole world, and for a reason he couldn't quite yet pinpoint. "Everything matters to _someone_ , don't you think?"

"Depends what you count as everything." Gerard shrugged it off, turning away from the shorter boy.

"You matter to me." Frank continued, blushing a little as Gerard met his gaze, "you mean the world to me, Gerard."

"Don't say that." Gerard bit his lip, his tone growing hoarse, because he knew, he knew how this would all end, and Frank stood there, innocent, with so much love, so much hope, evident in his eyes, and so much pain for him at the end of this all.

"Why not?" Frank asked, a little confused.

"Because the world... fuck... the world, what does that even mean... I just... I..." Gerard's words became stutters and then nothing at all, shaking his head as he turned away, cheeks red, "meaning is hard to measure don't you think?"

Frank shrugged, "I don't care, they're just words, and I don't think words do emotions that much justice anyway, but they serve their purpose, don't they?"

Gerard's gaze fell to the ground, to the ocean, to the horizon, to his hand shaking slightly, to Frank's beside it. He nodded, "they do."

-


	15. Monday, October 15th

Kat was at least a thousand percent sure that this was some kind of fucked dream, because as they'd walked out of their bedroom that morning, and down the hallway, they'd noticed something in the kitchen, and that _something_ was indeed their mother, making breakfast.

Kat couldn't quite believe it, frozen in shock for a good few moments, before curiosity getting the better of them and finding themself making their forward and into the door way, watching with disbelief as their mother stood waiting for the toaster to finish toasting the bread she'd put into it, a smile on her face, oddly content, oddly motherly.

Kat was then at least ten thousand percent certain that this _had_ to be a dream.

Their mother turned a little, jumping a little as she noticed Kat stood in the doorway, watching her every move with a mixture of intrigue and concern. "You scared me there, honey." She noted, glancing back towards the toaster, before turning her full attention to the youngest of her children. "Morning, are you alright?"

"Am _I_ alright?" Kat exclaimed, laughing aloud at that one, "I'm not the one who's suddenly decided to act... act... 'normal' again after just abandoning all responsibility for a week!" They continued to exclaim.

Mrs Way let out a sigh, biting her lip, "I'm sorry, honey." She paused, "I just... I'm sorry. I messed things up big time, and I couldn't deal with that. I chased your father away, and I was horrible to you, horrible to him too, and all out of my own insecurities. It's hard to cope, I'm sorry. Gerard said something to me yesterday, and I... I _have_ to try, I'm sorry. I'm your mother, I'm really sorry."

Kat remained skeptical, raising their eyebrows, but stepping closer, "is dad coming back?" They found themself asking: hopeful, despite all odds.

Mrs Way bit her lip, turning her head away, "I'm afraid not... at least I think not."

"Oh..." Kat let out a sigh, even though they'd known this all deep down from the start. "I told Gerard that I'd make sure his dad came back, I promised, I-"

"Gerard talked to me, honey, he said he thought dad wasn't coming back." She let out a sigh, "he's changed somehow, don't you think?"

Kat nodded, "Frank. He met this boy called Frank. And suddenly Frank Iero is the most fuc- err... important person in the world."

"And you're jealous?" She asked, raising her eyebrows: her tone remaining oddly gentle, and Kat wasn't even sure that this was their mother anymore.

"Frank just doesn't _understand_ , like Gerard, you know, you know that he's different and he needs someone that understands and Frank doesn't even know." Kat exclaimed, gesturing with their hands a little.

"Mmm..." Mrs Way added, "so that's who he's been spending time with recently. And what about you? Where were you yesterday? See, this is me being motherly. This is me trying."

Kat paused for a moment, unsure if they wanted her to try anymore. Unsure if they could ever trust her at all. Unsure if they just wanted her to fuck off and to never be seen again, but unsure, unsure as to what Gerard wanted, because what Gerard wanted was always what mattered most overall. "I was with Pete."

"Oh..." she continued, her tone remaining so calm and perhaps even pliant that it began to irritate Kat, because they found themself thinking of her as less of the hated mother figure and one that they could perhaps begin to understand, and they hated that, because they didn't need this bullshit sympathy from someone who'd made their life hell, someone who'd fucked this all up, because if Kat began to like her, then they'd find it harder to pin all the blame upon her, and they weren't quite ready to admit the faults in themself yet. "Who's Pete?" She continued.

"Pete's my boyfriend." Kat snapped, their tone suddenly bitter: designed as if solely to get some form of reaction from her.

"O-oh..." Her voice cracked a little, but she remained calm, her expression vaguely unreadable. "You're gay?" She asked, a moment later.

"I'm not a guy." Kat raised their voice further, "you don't fucking get that! Homosexual. Gay. Same gender relationship. Pete's a guy. I'm not a fucking _guy_. My name isn't fucking Mikey, don't fucking give me that fucking bullshit again, stop fucking pretending you care - I can't fucking take it, you know? And I can't fucking take you brainwashing Gerard and getting him on your side, and just because you're the only parent we've got now does _not_ mean that you're the best parent, because dad's fucking better than you'll ever be and he's not even here." Kat paused, breathing faster than before. "And my name's fucking _Kat_. Not that you care, of course."

Mrs Way looked a little taken aback, the toast popping up from the toaster, and giving her a distraction, allowing her to turn and take the slices out onto the plates she'd placed on the counter top. She paused momentarily as she opened the tub of butter, biting her lip, before saying, " _Kat_ , honey, could you wake up your brother? I don't want his toast to get cold."

Kat stood there in disbelief, unable to breathe for a good few moments, because what the fuck had just happened, and what the fuck were they supposed to do, fuck, what the fuck were they supposed to say? Because this _changed_ things, and they hated that, because they felt like it shouldn't, but it _did_.

Because perhaps she really was trying.

Kat hadn't even considered that before.

Perhaps things really were changing.

Perhaps things might all be okay.

Kat blinked rapidly, before pushing out a nervous, somewhat shaky, "uhh... y-yeah, sure, I... I will." And with that, they made their way out of the kitchen, down the hallway, and into Gerard's room, still in utter disbelief of this all.

Gerard had said something to her, and that something had changed this all, and Kat was certain they wouldn't quite understand what, but still, they knew for certain that they were beyond thankful, even if they weren't quite ready to admit that yet.

-

Gerard was sat on Frank's porch steps, awaiting the sixteen year old's return from school; Gerard had been to school himself, yes, but he ditched his last class since it was gym and he'd really rather die, or in fact, more suitably, not die, than partake in such a form of modern hell, and fuck, it wasn't like people even noticed when he was gone.

He'd at first gone to the beach, sitting down before the waves and beginning work on another draft of his letter, finding enough comfort and safety in the solitude of early afternoon: hidden in plain sight, hidden by the ocean, alone and okay. But he hadn't managed to get very far; his mind preoccupied with something other than his own demise for once, and that something now stood before him, just a few feet away.

Frank Iero's existence was now certifiably both a blessing and a curse and Gerard just wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel about that, what he was supposed to do about that besides scrap the letter that he couldn't quite bring himself to write, shove it into his pocket and make his way up into town and down the few streets that took him to Frank's house, and there he'd sat, on his porch for a good ten minutes, biting into his bottom lip enough for it to scar, uncertain as to what he wanted to say to Frank, just that he _needed_ to see him.

And he reckoned Frank might understand that, might understand him perhaps now.

But truth be told, Gerard didn't quite understand himself, understand how he sat there, seeming to have fixed things to an extent at least with his mother, and definitely put Kat in a better mood as a result of it, but still he wasn't happy, he wasn't satisfied, just oddly complacent, continuously empty, and forever enthralled by the ocean.

He pulled his knees up to his chest and tried not to think about Thursday night, he brushed his hair behind his ears and tried not to think about waking up on Friday morning.

But he'd found himself thinking about Thursday night and Friday morning an awful lot that day.

He couldn't quite help himself.

When it came to a lot of things, Gerard just couldn't quite help himself.

And getting close to Frank was definitely one of them.

Frank approached him, a little puzzled and surprised to see him there, evidently waiting for him, but still, it was a nice surprise regardless - it wasn't like he didn't welcome Gerard's presence, of course.

"Hey," he began, looking down at the older boy sat upon his step.

Gerard peered up at him: the light catching in his eyes and creating this golden shimmer that had Frank completely astounded, because Gerard was this odd boy with greasy hair, growing into his face, too long, messy, unkempt, and dark clothes, baggy and unflattering, with the odd stain on them, but still, there was no question about the fact that he was beautiful.

"H-hey..." Gerard stuttered out, his cheeks flushing an awkward shade of red as he did so.

"I guess you wanted to see me." Frank caught onto the fact that he needed to do most of the talking today rather quickly, and Gerard was thankful, forever thankful, of the fact that although Frank didn't quite understand the way his head worked and why he did things, he was still ready to accept and accommodate them in the best way he could.

Gerard nodded in response, stumbling to his feet and steadying himself on the porch fence, leaving Frank with a look of concern in his eyes, but he thought it better not to comment, not to upset Gerard, who already seemed pretty fragile that day as it was.

"Are you okay?" Frank waited for a reply, watching Gerard making an attempt at a vague shrug, which was not the response he'd wanted, but still the one he'd expected, but he knew he couldn't really ask for more than the truth. "Do you want to come inside?" Gerard nodded, watching as Frank made his way up the porch and unlocked his front door, gesturing for Gerard to make his way inside, and then following him and closing the door behind them.

Frank's house was empty besides the two of them and Daisy, who was curled up, asleep in her bed. Gerard stepped forward, watching her with curiosity, having not seen her for a week, and finding himself to have missed her, and missed the part of Frank close to her. He just tried not to think of what had happened that weekend after he'd come back from the park with Frank and Daisy.

Frank stood back, watching Gerard's eyes fall upon Daisy with intrigue, unsure what to make of this all, what to make of this boy, the most beautiful, yet quite easily the most fragile boy in the world, the boy who might even have the whole world of problems upon his shoulders, but the boy who Frank knew so little about, the boy who made Frank scared to ask, the boy who Frank was so fucking scared to break.

Gerard turned away from Daisy soon enough, meeting Frank's eyes with an odd kind of distraught, perhaps even bittersweet kind of look: very much lost in his own head, and Frank ended just dreaded to know what kind of mess he had himself caught up in up there.

"Do you want to go upstairs?" Frank offered, Gerard giving a small nod, "to talk? Or maybe I could do the talking?"

"I'm comfortable with talking today," Gerard added, his tone quiet though, perhaps somewhat hesitant, "I just don't have a lot I _can_ say. There's just a lot... up in my head... a lot to think about."

"Bad things?" Frank asked, stepping closer to Gerard.

The taller boy nodded.

"Do you want me to try and take your mind off them? I could tell you about my day, if you want." Frank asked, a smile upon his lips: welcoming, comforting.

Gerard nodded, his eyes fixated upon Frank and the way the light coming in from the kitchen window caught his face and made his cheekbones appear harsher. Gerard nodded, nodded although he wanted nothing less than for Frank to tell him he was beautiful and that everything was okay, and that there was a point to his existence.

Because truth be told, Gerard was awfully scared he might believe him.

-

Gerard positioned himself entirely closer to Frank than was necessary, but he couldn't care at all as he leaned into the shorter boy's side; the two curled up against Frank's windowsill: glancing out as the grey storm cloud skies began to open up with rain, and the world outside seemed to scream in response, because the weather hadn't been anywhere near this foul in months now.

But for Gerard, he hadn't felt anywhere near as okay with himself as he did right now in months, but in turn, he felt disgusted with himself and his selfishness and complacency, and his tendency to get attached, and to get attached to people like Frank, because he knew now that Frank would never let him down, and the self-destructive part of Gerard _needed_ him to.

"My friend Lindsey wants to meet you," Frank found himself saying into the silence: his gaze fixated outside, upon the skies, and the cliff tops upon the horizon - the view of the ocean was pretty crap from Frank's window, due to the fact that his house was much further into town than Gerard's was: Gerard's being practically on the coastline.

"O-oh..." Gerard stuttered out - not quite sure what to make of that, unsure whether he wanted to meet Lindsey, but unable to say no to Frank, unwilling to disappoint him, but already disappointed in himself.

"She's nice, don't worry," Frank assured him, meeting Gerard's gaze and noticing the concern in his eyes, "of course, you don't _have_ to. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do. Fuck, don't ever let me make you do something, Gerard, alright? I'm just saying, I mean... I talk about you quite a bit, good things, of course, and well, she's heard about you and she just wants to see you in person."

Gerard shrugged, leaning further into Frank's side, "not now." He added for the time being, still unsure, still unsure of himself, still unsure as to how he felt inside and what to do with that feeling at all: that dreaded optimism that perhaps things might work out okay in the end.

"Of course." Frank nodded, smiling a little, "it's fucking terrible outside as well," he gestured towards the window, although Gerard was already well aware of the downpour outside, "but whenever you feel like you'd want to."

"I like the rain," Gerard added, sitting up a little in order to glance back out the window, "it's... it's... calming?" He struggled to find the right word, "I don't quite know, but it makes me feel better."

"It makes me fucking _wet_." Frank snapped, the slightly less innocent connotations of his words only catching him once he'd uttered them, sending his cheeks into the depths of crimson coloured hell, "not like that, Jesus fucking Christ. Wet like water is wet."

"Didn't think you meant like that." Gerard smiled a little, brushing his hair away from his face, "I mean, though, does it not make you feel _anything_? Like you just see it objectively, water is wet? Like grass is green?"

"Yeah," Frank shrugged, "it's weather, isn't it? Can't do much about it: it just happens."

"Don't you ever _think_ about things....?" Gerard trailed off, leaning back into Frank's side, "I think about things a lot. I like the rain because it reminds me of the ocean and when I look at the ocean I feel insignificant, and then suddenly everything is that little bit less crushing."

Frank raised his eyebrows a little, "when I look at the ocean, it reminds me of you, and then I remember how beautiful you are and suddenly I feel so much better, because if you exist, then that's solid proof that not everything's bad. Solid proof that can't be taken away from me. I mean, you're not going anywhere, are you?" Frank laughed a little.

Gerard was not laughing.

He looked down, his cheeks an awkward pink, as he did all he could to keep breathing.

"You're really quite special, Gerard," Frank continued of his own accord, putting Gerard's silence down to embarrassment, because maybe Frank had gone overboard on the compliments, and Gerard was just perfectly happen to accept Frank's own rationalisation of it all.

He shook his head a little, "I like feeling insignificant. Feeling like I matter, feeling like I have purpose, and that everything I do means something is just so terribly overwhelming and then sometimes I feel like I can't breathe, because I just can't live up to what people might think I'm supposed to be, what I might think I'm supposed to be."

"You don't _have_ to." Frank exclaimed, placing his arm around Gerard’s shoulders, "fuck what other people think. Do what you feel is right, what makes you happy."

"I just don't know what those things are, though." Gerard admitted, avoiding Frank's gaze, biting down on his lip and cursing the tears appearing in his eyes, because Frank wasn't wrong, and he wasn't quite so sure about everything anymore, and his head was beginning to ache, his world spinning a little, because this was what _had_ to happen, this was what was supposed to happen.

"Instinct. Trust yourself. Do something without thinking about it. Do it because it feels natural."

Gerard shook his head firmly, "I feel sick thinking about it." He paused for a moment, "I tend to overthink things."

Frank nodded, "I know. You can't help it, though, can you?" Gerard shook his head. "I'm just saying, that maybe, sometimes, when your on your own or without someone you can trust just perhaps say or do something without overthinking, perhaps without thinking at all. See how it is. I think it might be easier for you."

"I fuck things up, though. I fuck things up even when I think about them, I can't just..." Gerard trailed off, shaking his head.

"Hey, Gerard, it's..." Frank pulled Gerard into his chest without thinking, thanking God when Gerard didn't react negatively to his touch, "it's okay, I'm sorry, I didn't..." He let out a sigh, "ignore what I'm saying, I'm an idiot."

"You're not an idiot." Gerard responded, almost instantly.

"If you say so-"

"I didn't think about it then." Gerard interjected, biting his lip.

"And did the world explode?" Frank pulled away, laughing a little. Gerard shook his head. "See, not so bad, is it?"

-


	16. Tuesday, October 16th

"So you think it's him?" Lindsey asked, the two sat at upon a bench at school - Lindsey tearing off bits of a ham sandwich and glaring it rather distastefully before placing each piece into her mouth, again, of course with an almost theatrical level of discomfort and hatred for the sandwich.

Frank shrugged, his knees pulled up to his chest, and his gaze fixated off into the distance: upon Ray and Pete and as to what their conversation could possibly hold judging by the scarlet colour Pete's cheeks had flushed. He wondered what they could think his and Lindsey's conversation held, judging by the somber and uncomfortable expressions upon their faces - he really did wonder as to what Ray and Pete thought went on in his head sometimes, because truth be told he was hardly the most public person when it came to his emotions, and he was easily the worst when it came to expressing them.

"I don't _know_." He exclaimed, biting down on his bottom lip and mentally cursing every thought that had found its way into his head: every thought detailing how things might go if it was Gerard who'd written those letters, and of course, what Frank could do about it, and how the date was the sixteenth of October, they were more than half way through the month and Frank had no clue at all.

"I'm sorry to say it, Frank, but you're bad at this. Pathetic even." Lindsey noted, tossing what remained of her sandwich into the bin. "Let me _help_ you." She stressed her words, meeting Frank's gaze.

"And how would you go about doing so?" Frank asked, raising his eyebrows a little, "because you can't just go up to Gerard and be like-"

"I never said this had to involve Gerard." She smiled, getting up from the bench and gesturing for Frank to follow her. "We just find out who 'Mikey' is, don't we? How many Mikeys do you think there are?"

"Uhh... loads..." Frank exclaimed.

"Yeah, and how many Mikeys who are really close to someone who might drown themself?" Lindsey explained, "does Gerard know anyone called Mikey by chance?"

"No." Frank added, "I think if he did I would be freaking out a little more."

"Then, _hey_ , maybe it's not Gerard. If he doesn't know a Mikey then it's really unlikely that it's him." Lindsey continued, watching Frank's expression light up a little. "Of course then, there's the matter of finding one person and helping them even when they won't want our help."

"I just want to know it's not Gerard, for certain." Frank spoke up, biting his lip a little, "Gerard matters more. Gerard matters the _most_."

She smiled a little, raising her eyebrows, "and have you kissed him yet?" Frank shook his head frantically. "Why not?"

Frank shrugged, "it's just not... not like that. I don't want to... I don't want to mess things up - he needs me, I need him, and whether I think he's cute or not, that just doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things, does it?"

"God, this boy has made you _selfless_ , I wouldn't be surprised if you told me he was a fucking wizard or something." She exclaimed, before glancing across at Ray and Pete and letting out a sigh, "I think we should start with them."

"I asked them though, back at the start of the month, just when I first found this letter, and-"

"And still, they could have met a Mikey in the past two weeks, come on, Frank, it's like you don't want to find out who wrote it."

And truth be told, a very strong part of Frank didn't, because more than anything, Frank was scared: scared that it could be Gerard, scared that it _would_ be Gerard, scared of what he'd do, scared of how Gerard would react, scared of the world, scared of every morning, scared of every day in October, because every day would be a day closer to November, and come November Frank would be scared, so fucking scared, and so fucking alone.

Because Gerard was so much more than a cute boy to him.

Gerard was everything, and that sounded odd, but it was the truth, and although Frank didn't know quite what it meant, he knew that it meant something.

"You alright?" Ray looked between the two of them as they approached, taking note of the less than pleasant expressions as he did so.

Frank nodded, shrugging a little, before turning to glance at Lindsey, because suddenly, in that moment, he didn't know one word of the English language.

"Yeah," Lindsey looked between Ray and Pete, catching Pete's eye in particular, and the rather odd look held within it, "we just really need to speak to someone called Mikey."

"Mikey who?" Ray asked, glancing back at Pete.

Pete stood frozen, biting his lip.

"We don't know." Lindsey admitted, blushing a little, "any Mikey you know would be good."

"Why?" Ray continued to ask.

"We can't tell you, but it's important, important but private. Something that Mikey doesn't know but he really needs to." Lindsey continued, her eyes meeting Frank's as she spoke, but by now it was evident that despite what she tried, she wasn't going to get a single word out of Frank.

"Oh." Ray paused for a moment, thinking it over in his head.

Pete blushed a little, "what kind of important is the thing? On a scale of one to ten, with one being I like his hair and ten being-"

"Ten." Frank spoke up for the first time: his tone certain, sure of himself like he never had been before.

"I didn't even say what ten was." Pete protested, his eyebrows rising a little.

"This is ten." Frank reiterated.

"I was thinking ten was life or death-" Pete continued, only to be cut off by Frank once more.

"This is ten."

Ray glanced at Lindsey, attempting to read the situation off her face, but she simply shook her head at him, as if to curse at him for doing so.

"I know someone who used to be called Mikey. They're not Mikey anymore. And they don't really... it's a complicated kind of thing, but just don't go shouting about the fact that I know them."

"Is this Mikey in the mafia or something?" Ray asked, suddenly feeling very left out all together.

"They're not called Mikey anymore." Pete continued, his tone stern. "But you'd have to tell me what's going on before I'd let you talk to them."

" _Pete_!" Lindsey exclaimed.

"I don't fucking care, Lindsey, I have my own life too, and this is important and it's nothing something the whole world needs to know everything about. Maybe I'll make an exception, maybe."

"You're an ass." Lindsey told him, coming to regret her decision in doing so as Pete shot her a glare and stormed off.

-

This had been a bad idea.

As had many things in Pete's life.

Things involving Kat Way in particular.

But still.

Here he was, with Kat, skipping school because Lindsey had gotten vaguely upset with him.

He was wondering when the party would come congratulating him for officially being the most pathetic person on Earth.

But he really couldn't give all that much in the way of a shit as the two made their way out of school, having kept a relatively fast pace for the first street or so, until they'd reached somewhere closer to the outskirts of town, where they'd gotten more comfortable in the solitude, and Kat had even gone as far as to slip their hand into Pete's - something they really hadn't done before.

"What's this for?" Pete found himself asking, blushing a little as he looked down at their linked hands.

Kat shrugged a little, "making you feel better, I don't know, I just... you're clearly not okay right now, are you?"

Pete shook his head, letting out a sigh, "it's kind of complicated."

"As everything seems to be." Kat laughed a little, looking up and glancing across at the street before them, "do you want to go to the beach or something like that?"

"Yeah, I don't really mind," Pete nodded, shrugging a little as he did so, letting Kat lead him forward and down towards the shoreline.

"So this complicated thing that's upsetting you?" Kat continued, their hand still grasped in Pete's, giving his hand a gentle squeeze as they felt him tense up a little in response.

"Yeah..." Pete trailed off, "I don't know, I think Lindsey knows about us or you or something somehow, I don't know exactly but she was like... she was asking me if I knew someone called Mikey and was getting really fucking aggressive about it, and I was like I know someone who used to be called Mikey and she was like I need to talk to them right now it's 'life or death'."

Kat raised their eyebrows in response, "did you ask her why?"

"I fucking tried, but no, it's fucking private and fucking confidential, isn't it? I swear she just knows something. I think... fuck I don't even know, but it's just like she doesn't have any concept of other people's fucking privacy, _god_." Pete exclaimed, letting out a sigh, as the two made their way onto the beach, heading to the rocks by the cliff and sitting down beside one another out of view.

"I can't see why she'd want to talk to me. I've never spoken to her at all." Kat continued, shrugging a little as they leaned into Pete's side.

"She didn't say it was _you_ specifically, just someone called 'Mikey' and that it was very important, which sounds like _bullshit_." Pete shook his head, "probably not you. You're not even Mikey anymore."

"Exactly." Kat nodded, "leave her to her own life problems, it's nothing to do with you - nothing you nor I have to worry about."

"What we do have to worry about is people... fucking people finding out about us..." Pete sighed, meeting Kat's gaze.

"Look, I know your- I..." Kat shook their head, "it's complicated. I wish it wasn't."

"I wish it was just us, you know? No one else in the world, just us, and then maybe we might work, because when we fuck up, it's always related to other people, isn't it?" Pete met Kat's gaze, "and this time we're just lucky because no one really knows."

"Just knowing you makes me feel lucky." Kat admitted.

"Alright calm down, no need to get all sentimental, is there?" He laughed a little, leaning into Kat's side in an attempt to hide his blush.

"I just like you a lot." Kat went on to say, "things are a bit weird at home right now. My mum started suddenly pretending to give a shit again, and of course, Gerard is on her side, which is fucking ridiculous because she _never_ liked him. But she is nicer now, or at least better at pretending. I think perhaps on some level she feels at least sorry for herself because dad left, but...." Kat bit their lip, "doesn't fucking matter. She's a shitty mother. She hit me."

"You never told me that-" Pete exclaimed, his eyes widening as he engaged protective boyfriend mode, well, technically he still hadn't quite come up with a gender neutral term for Kat, but he reckoned that if he just kept telling Kat that they were dating that Kat would just roll with it.

"It's fine, it was like ages ago. Only a little slap. Didn't hurt." Kat shrugged a little. "That's why dad walked out though. At first I hated him because he never did anything when my mum was being a bitch, but then he does something, and now he's the worst person I know for it."

"He just didn't do the right thing." Pete pressed a kiss to Kat's cheek, "I can't believe she'd dare to do that - you're too perfect, I swear to God-"

" _Pete_."

"What you can be sappy but I can't?"

Kat nodded. "Exactly."

-

He'd allowed too much.

He'd allowed words upon a page to mean the world.

And for one boy to make him question it all.

And here he stood, doing very little about it.

Because she was trying.

His mother smiled again and his sibling tried not to.

Kat was making a specific effort _not_ to try, and by that logic, by Kat logic, they were trying more than ever before, and they cared, they really did care. They just wouldn't dare let anyone know.

His mother wasn't a bad one when she tried.

And Gerard had come to notice that very much so over the past day or so - he'd began to count and he'd said a total of three words within the past twenty two hours and forty six minutes, but he'd seen oh so much.

It wasn't even like his head was dictating his silence - his brain frying before the words could quite get out. He just found himself curious, and he found himself silent - he found himself watching, watching the way his mother burnt one side of their dinner and the way Kat pretended not to care that she was trying.

He found himself wondering if things _would_ be okay without his father again.

He found himself silent, though, because he didn't want to ask, he didn't want to _know_ , he just wanted to consider, because he found himself all of a sudden so fucking scared of certainty, and end dates, and permanence.

Because for the first time, he stood there, afraid of November 1st, afraid of what would become of him, his mind having changed: everything had changed since Thursday night and Friday morning.

He'd changed so many things, and Frank had changed so many things too.

And Frank mattered, so much.

And Gerard found himself, thinking, thinking and wondering, considering, considering but without certainty that perhaps meeting Lindsey might be a nice idea.

He found himself thinking that maybe pushing the date off a little might be a nice one too.

Just another week.

Just perhaps.

He wasn't certain.

Truth be told, it had a lot to do with the letters and the way his head was a contorted of mess of words he needed to, but wouldn't say - he couldn't get things out, and he couldn't leave things in a mess when he was gone; he had been clear with himself about that, but he'd also been clear with the certainty and importance of the date.

But he found himself stood in the hallway, looking into the kitchen and considering just what important could possibly mean.

Because all he wanted to do was talk to Frank, he wanted Frank to really understand, he felt that now, but he wanted to make Frank happy too, and he wasn't quite sure that the two went hand in hand, and more than anything, he was scared, scared of permanence, and perhaps now scared of speaking, of breaking the silence.

Kat caught his eye as they made their way across the room. "Gerard?" They asked, a little taken aback by how odd Gerard knew he looked: just stood there, leaned up against the wall, and gaze fixated firmly upon the room, upon his mother, upon Kat, and then upon the ceiling light, upon the moth that had been there early one Friday morning, upon the conversation that had taken place - a conversation Frank didn't and would never understand.

"Gerard, honey?" His mother turned in response to Kat, looking between her two children with confusion and concern. "What's happening? Are you okay-"

"Leave him alone." Kat let out a sigh, rolling their eyes at their mother and stepping closer to Gerard, "do you want to go out to the beach or something?"

Gerard shook his head, looking past Kat and at his mother, smiling. She found herself awkward, uncomfortable perhaps, but smiling back regardless.

Kat peered back with confusion, jealousy even, perhaps, "what's going on?" They glared at their mother, almost accusingly.

"Kat, please, would you stop blaming me for everything?" She let out a sigh, looking between her two children with a somewhat apologetic look.

"Gerard's not okay right now, that's probably _your_ fault-"

"I am okay." Gerard spoke up, but only because he _had_ to, and in that moment he felt a dislike for Kat, because Kat had made him, not directly, but they made him - that still stood. "I was just making an effort not to speak. You notice more like that. I noticed a lot."

Kat glanced back at their mother, unsure quite what to say, but perhaps even more unsure as to why they found themself turning to their mother for help - it was a subconscious thing, really. "Why?" They found themself asking.

"What did you notice?" Mrs Way asked, leaning back against the kitchen counter.

Gerard smiled a little at that. "I noticed that you really are trying, I noticed that you try to hide when the food is burning by cutting off the edges. You're not as good of a cook as you want yourself to be, but that doesn't matter, not anymore, because it's not the best thing you have going for you anymore, now you have kindness and concern, and really feeling sorry changed this all for you, you're being genuine I noticed that. Kat does believe you and Kat does appreciate it, but they're making it specifically clear that they don't, which in turn makes it even specifically clearer than they do, but they have a lot on their mind so it's okay, and it's not their fault."

Silence followed: awkward glances, a good few minutes of it as well.

"You noticed a lot." Mrs Way exclaimed, blushing a little. "Sorry about my food, I-"

"You've changed." Kat interrupted her, "something's changed. Recently, since perhaps Thursday or Friday, and I can't place what, but something's changed. Something _big_. Something in the way you look at everything."

"Kat, please-" Mrs Way tried, but soon found herself cut off.

"I guess you're right." Gerard let out a sigh, shrugging a little. "But... it's... it's not your business as to what it is."

"Bet it's Frank's business, though, because you tell him _everything_ , don't you? And I don't matter at all."

Gerard paused, turning away, because truth be told, he _had_ told Frank, but not in a way he understood, not in a language he understood, "yes, I told Frank, he just doesn't know."

"And what does that mean?"

"I told Frank but still he doesn't know." Gerard made his way down to his room at that, closing the door behind him, and curling up upon his bed: knees to his chest, head in his hands, because Frank knew, but he didn't.

When it came to Frank, in all manners, he knew but he didn't.

He was sorry, but there was nothing he could do.

Frank was special, and Gerard knew how, but he just didn't want to say it aloud.

Instead, he grabbed a piece of paper, and a pen: blue ink, and bit his lip as he began to put in down in pen and ink - what his head had been clouded with.

Because the letter to Frank was rather short in nature, short, simple, but true, and most certainly not without meaning.

_'Frank, I love you. But I'm sorry because I hate myself more than I love you. I love you more than I love the ocean though. I wish you'd get out my head, it'd be easier that way, but I can't, in the same way I can't not do this. And I can never apologise so many times that it would be enough.'_

-


	17. Wednesday, October 17th

Asphyxiation. What a lovely word for such a horrible thing. What an odd thing to ponder. What a horrible place for your mind to go. What a way to go.

There are many, many ways in which to kill yourself.

Asphyxiation was by no means the easiest to accomplish, but was definitely the most freeform, but not Gerard's preferred way to go.

Drowning was of course his number one choice, and what he focused on the most, but like any concerned suicidal person, he had of course put some thought into a back up plan - a second choice, and a third too.

Although, he did half reckon that if he walked into a lake and make it out alive that if he was simply just not intended to die. Not that Gerard had ever believed in any kind of God or meaning behind the universe and life, but still, the thought of immortality had haunted his mind: like an awful ghost, perhaps one of a tennis player from the seventies, who'd died in his sleep in a bedroom that had been much nicer than what it was now, a generally shitty excuse for representation when it came to the horrors of death - useless, harmless, but annoying, barely even there, barely even real. Perhaps he'd sit there and repeat the hook of an old pop song for hours upon end, and drive you insane in doing so, but he'd never get up, he'd never cause you any _real_ harm, but he'd watch as you went insane, he'd watch as they sent you away, and he'd smile.

Gerard wondered just how sleep deprived he had to be in order to personify immortality as the ghost of a tennis player from the seventies. Gerard laughed aloud, because it was four in the morning, and despite how thin his bedroom walls were, no one could hear him.

Because in that moment, it felt like no one in the entire fucking world was awake.

The most effective methods of suicide involved shotguns, handguns, any guns, and if Gerard felt strongly about anything in his life, it was that he didn't like guns. He didn't like loud noises, he didn't like mess, he didn't like triggers, he didn't like bullets, and how fucking artificial it all was. Guns scared him - there was no beauty in guns.

There was no beauty in killing himself, though.

But he desperately wanted there to be.

He desperately wanted to rationalise it all, but it was all based solely upon the imperfections in his head - it was his fault, and it wasn't beautiful at all.

But at least drowning himself was far less messy - he had that to say for himself.

Drowning was however, statistically, because yes, Gerard had researched this, sixty percent efficient, and took a hell of a lot longer than a bullet to, fuck, anywhere, did, but, the ocean defined his life in a way he never wanted a shotgun to.

The ocean was one of his first memories. He wanted it to be one of his last.

And he knew for sure that he'd never felt comfort in a gun.

Gerard's second choice was pills.

The pills he didn't take anymore and had stocked up in the back of one of his drawers. At first, he hadn't been saving them, just hiding them, but he reckoned that he might as well put them to some use, and if it came down to it, he'd take the whole lot - and _fuck_ , he had a lot saved up by now, and in earnest, just taking the pills seemed like a much easier way to end it.

But Gerard yearned the sensation of water filling his lungs: a burning without a fire - something tragic, something beautiful in his own mind, and horrific in others, and he was well aware that he was beginning to romanticise, to even fall in love with the idea of his own death, but it was not that different from falling in love with the ocean.

And some people found the utmost joy in planning their wedding, Gerard found that joy in planning his funeral. Well, his death to be specific, but he had made vague funeral plans, also. He'd attach them to the end of Kat's letter, because Kat was stubborn enough to make sure that they happened, unlike his mother, who cared but lacked the strength.

His mother _had_ been a strong woman. Gerard knew she wasn't so much anymore, but he knew even more so that she was the kind of person that didn't know what to do with strength, with power, with control, and that in horrible way, she was better off like this. She was fucked up inside, but that set them all even, didn't it?

He wanted his funeral on the beach.

He assumed that they would have found his body in order to pronounce him 'officially' dead, but they could have easily made it clear from his letters, so for those reasons, he'd made two sets of requests - one involving his body, and one involving a photograph.

The one photograph that he'd take.

Not of the ocean.

But himself.

On his very last day.

And he'd smile.

Smile like he was oblivious.

Smile like he was innocent.

Because he needed to control this all down to the very last detail, and that most definitely included what they had to remember him by.

Just they.

Gerard felt like perhaps he didn't care enough.

And he didn't.

He wondered if it was cruel to specifically _not_ invite his father to his funeral, but he didn't want his parents to get back together anymore, or even run the risk of doing so, because the version of his mother with a husband was not the kind of mother he wanted Kat to have, because Kat liked her like this - they wouldn't admit it, but they did. Gerard knew it.

Gerard's third choice was to hang himself.

He'd picked a spot: a tree up on the cliff top, and he'd stashed some rope away in the corner of his closet, and he'd practiced tying a noose, just to be... just to be prepared.

It wasn't even like he was putting all that much effort into hiding it anymore: all someone had to do was come into his room and really look beyond the photographs upon the wall and the clothes on the floor, and the perhaps now permanently open window, because Gerard needed the smell of the ocean like it was crack cocaine.

His room was littered with evidence, littered with things for people to find: a whole story to unravel, but only when it was all too late, because no one cared enough to actually look at the junk upon his desk, or through his drawers, but that wasn't their fault.

Gerard cared about Frank.

And still he hadn't searched his room.

Gerard cared about Frank.

And still he was going to kill himself.

Or perhaps, he was going to kill himself, because he cared so much about Frank.

It was natural, he didn't feel safe inside his own head anymore.

-

Frank had never been one for getting up early, but he simply couldn't sleep at all. Lindsey, was somewhat of an early riser, but even more of a worrier, and it was that what had brought them out for a walk at barely six in the morning.

Frank knew he would regret this in even three hours time when he passed out in maths class or something like that, but fuck it, whatever, he could probably get some time off school for fainting - it wasn't like he was much able to concentrate upon anything in his current state of mind, anyway.

"Pete still won't talk to me." Lindsey let out a sigh, tying her hair up and out of her face as the two made their way down through the streets: the two somewhat silent in the early morning, and the two surrounded by nothing but street lamps and early dawn light, and perhaps one car that they'd seen upon their whole walk. It wasn't a particularly large town they lived in, so it made sense.

"You kind of pissed him off." Frank hated to say it, but it was indeed true, and there was very little he could do about the truth besides make every effort to ignore its existence and do everything in his power to point himself in a different direction.

"I did. But he was... he was just being arsey, and hey, how the fuck could he just second guess us like that." She let out a sigh, "he was being a dick. It was his own fault that I retaliated."

"If you say so." Frank shrugged a little, barely even noticing the way the two were headed now, but perhaps, with the shoreline before him, he should have done so.

"What do you mean, Frank?" Lindsey exclaimed, appearing almost offended in her tone of voice, "he _was_ being a dick. Hell, sometimes I think you don't even want to find out who's writing these letters."

"That's not true." Frank's tone was suddenly very quiet.

"You only care that it's not Gerard, and from then on you're acting like it's not your business anymore, so hey, let's only help this suicidal person _if_ they're cute- fucking bullshit, Frank, that's fucking bullshit-"

"It's not like that!" Frank exclaimed, his voice growing louder than he could have anticipated.

"Is it not?" Lindsey lowered her tone a little, raising her eyebrows.

"No." He shook his head, "I'm just... I'm scared that it will somehow be Gerard, and I don't know if I can face that as a reality."

"So you'd rather just let him kill himself, or run the risk of it?" Lindsey blinked in disbelief, because she quite honestly couldn't quite believe what Frank was saying.

"No, it's just... I don't know what the fuck I'm supposed to do if I know it is him, like how the fuck am I- I... just I... I can't even-"

"Frank," she let out a sigh, pulling him into a hug, "I want to help you. Let me help you," she pulled away, meeting his gaze with a certain sincerity, "and let me help you by making _sure_ that you know that ignoring it isn't going to make it any better or even make it go away."

"I know that," Frank nodded, finally looking up and taking in his surroundings as he felt sand under his feet, and jolting a little as he realised where they were, "when did we- get to the beach, I-?" He glanced around nervously.

"Frank, we just walked here, are you _alright_?" Lindsey looked him over with concern, "I think maybe you should have gotten some sleep instead of-"

"Fuck," Frank interrupted her as his gaze fixated upon a figure making his way down the beach quite a way away - definitely out of earshot, and it appeared as if he'd only just made it out from the houses closest to the shoreline, but that figure was, of course, "Gerard..." Frank lifted his finger up and pointed at him.

Lindsey's eyes widened in disbelief, squinting to make his figure out better, "so can I meet him? Or do we have to run away and pretend we don't exist for fear of hurting his feelings?"

" _Lindsey_..." Frank narrowed his eyes, shaking his head a little, "keep behind me a little," he instructed before quickening his pace into an awkward half jog across the beach, to Gerard, who had now stood at the shoreline, his camera in his hands and directed at the horizon.

"Gerard?" Frank called out, a little louder as he approached him, causing the seventeen year old to jump a little, glancing around in shock, but the look on his face seemed to soften considerably as he met Frank's eyes, however, as he looked past him and to Lindsey, his eyes lit up with concern once more.

"H-hey..." He stuttered out, putting his camera down and fidgeting with his sleeves, avoiding Frank's gaze and keeping his gaze fixated upon the ground as the two approached.

"Hey, this is Lindsey by the way." He gestured back to Lindsey with a smile. Gerard forced himself to look up and meet Lindsey's gaze, managing an awkward wave in her direction, to which Lindsey smiled and nodded, and Gerard decided that she wasn't going to cause him any immediate harm. "We were just out here for a walk, I'm sorry if this isn't a good time for you to meet new people, I-"

"It's okay." Gerard nodded, looking past Frank and at Lindsey now, curious to meet one of Frank's friends, curious in general - today was one of those days. He'd had a horrible sleepless night and now with the morning light it was like he'd never lived a day before in his life, or perhaps it was the pills he'd taken - only a few, but way more than necessary: not enough to cause any damage but enough to blur things out a little, because that was what he needed today.

"Frank's said an awful lot about you," Lindsey began, continuing to smile at Gerard as she spoke to him.

" _Lindsey_ -" Frank protested, his cheeks burning up.

"Oh... I... I..." Gerard stuttered out, his face just as red.

"Good things." Lindsey added, "he thinks the world of you, I assure you."

" _Lindsey_ , you're worse than my fucking mother, I swear to God!" Frank exclaimed, raising his voice a little, and Gerard wished to God that he could have hidden the way he jumped a little in response. "Sorry," Frank added, turning to Gerard, "I haven't had much sleep."

"Neither have I." Gerard admitted.

"How come?" Lindsey asked, deciding it best to step in before she was eternally left out of the conversation.

Gerard shrugged, because 'planning my suicide' wasn't exactly the best thing to say to someone you'd only just met, but it was however the truth. "Thinking," he went for after a minute's thought, which wasn't strictly false either, just vague.

"Thinking about what?" Lindsey asked what she perhaps shouldn’t - what Frank never would have, because he had anticipated the awkward grimace upon Gerard's face.

"J-just thinking..." he stuttered out, blushing and making an effort to look away from the two.

"You can't think about _nothing_ ," Lindsey continued: pushing the fucking hell out of it.

" _Lindsey_." Frank turned to her, glaring a little.

"What?" She retorted, looking between the two in confusion.

"Just leave it." Frank let out a sigh.

"Yes, Frank, because 'just leaving' everything is the _best_ approach to life in general." She rolled her eyes, leaving Gerard biting his lip; his eyes boring into the ground.

"Lindsey, please just _leave_ it." Frank let out a sigh, looking up and flashing Gerard the most apologetic glance he could muster. "Why is the concept that maybe he doesn't want to tell you, someone he just met, about his private thoughts, so fucking hard to understand?"

Lindsey let out a sigh; Frank had a point, but there was also no way around the fact that he was being an idiot about this. "Sorry," she met Gerard's eyes.

Gerard nodded: evidently rendered awkward in their conversation, glancing back across the water and letting out a sigh, hating how he wished that Lindsey wasn't there, and that Frank wasn't there too. Hating how he wished that he was indeed completely fucking alone, hating how all he ever wanted to be in life was alone, and hating how nothing could ever possibly come of him, or come of his life, or what little was left of it.

Because Gerard had never really thought of things like a countdown before, but today was the seventeenth - he had just over two weeks left. Just over two weeks left of his _life_ , and Frank looked at him and smiled, smiled at him like they be friends in November, like he'd be alive in November, and Gerard frowned, because he didn't want Frank to go to the beach in November alone, but it seemed as if he had Lindsey.

Frank wasn't _alone_ , and Gerard even considered himself selfish to consider the fact that Frank's existence might revolve around him in the same way that Gerard found his own existence beginning to revolve around Frank.

Frank had friends, Frank had family, Frank had a dog, Frank had a life, Frank had a November, Frank had a December, Frank had a Christmas and a New Year, and all Gerard had was Halloween.

He found himself oddly amused by the concept of killing himself on the day after Halloween - it seemed almost like some shitty horror trope, but Halloween had never held any significance, it was just October 31st: his last full day alive.

"Hey, Gerard-" Gerard was pulled from his own train of thought as Frank's words came to slap him across the face with his own name, and he came to realise that a whole conversation between the two had passed him by as he drowned himself in his own mind.

"H-hey..." Gerard stuttered out, blushing.

"Did I tell you that it's my birthday soon?" Frank asked, his face lighting up a little, "I'm gonna be seventeen."

Gerard froze, his whole body tensing up, because _how_ soon, because as much as Gerard hated the concept of birthdays, and even more so, the concept of parties, he didn't want to miss Frank's.

"You should do something for it. Then Gerard could meet the others-"

"I'm not particularly good with people," Gerard found himself speaking up, blushing a little.

"Don't worry, Frank doesn't have a lot of friends, unsurprisingly," she laughed a little, causing Frank to roll his eyes and try his best to be offended.

"Yeah, I'm not keen on people either. But maybe a small thing, just at my house, like maybe six people, some beer and shit, I don't know, just a _thing_." Frank found himself gesturing awkwardly, "would that be okay?"

"I don't really like alcohol either," Gerard admitted, suddenly feeling very embarrassed.

"I'm not gonna make you drink, nobody is. Hey, I promise I won't get drunk for you, if that'd make you better, even though it is my birthday. It'd just be cool if you came." Frank smiled, meeting Gerard’s gaze.

"When is it?" Gerard asked, biting his lip, already knowing he'd regret asking, because he knew already that it wouldn't be an experience which he could enjoy, or if it was in November, not an experience he'd be alive for, but what if... what if it was something like November sixth? Would he put off the whole ordeal for that? For Frank? Because he could, and he found himself truly scared by the prospect of waking up on November second, it just felt unnatural, and he stood there feeling a little sick.

But the reality of the situation was way worse.

"October 31st, Halloween, cool, isn't it? When I was a kid it was literally the best thing ever, I fucking tell you- so _cool_ , don't you think?"

Gerard swallowed hard, nodding: forcing a nod. "Y-yeah," he stuttered out. He'd be alive then, and he owed Frank that at least, his last day alive at his birthday party with people and alcohol and too loud music and yelling and a house he didn't quite know, people he most likely wouldn't like. Frank deserved that at least.

"So you'll come?" Frank asked, his face lighting up as if it were the sun.

Gerard nodded, biting his lip as his insides seemed to turn to mush.

-


	18. Thursday, October 18th

They were in love with him.

In love with him.

And his house.

His room.

The view from the window.

The sheets on the bed.

The pictures on the wall.

The look in his eyes.

The nonsense he muttered in his sleep.

The meaningless conversations they had.

The more meaningful ones too.

The crack in the wall from where he'd punched it.

The horrific floral shirt at the back of his wardrobe.

The way he was shorter.

The stupid jokes.

The excessive use of aftershave.

The late nights.

The early mornings.

The whole world, just as long as he was in it.

Kat really didn't get that soppy often; you could tell it was four in the morning, well, half four now. Kat had spent a good thirty minutes laid there in silence as they came to the realisation that they were indeed in love with their boyfriend: laid in his bed beside them, still asleep, because Pete never got up first, and Kat had the whole world to themself at this time of day.

And perhaps that wasn't such a good thing.

They didn't quite know what to do, quite know what to say, besides just lying there, watching Pete's eyelids flicker in his sleep: illuminated only by the moonlight which streamed in through the open window.

Pete always slept with the window open - something that initially unnerved Kat, but they lived in a relatively small, relatively crime free town that in fact mainly consisted of elderly people and families with children - the idea was that you got out as soon as you turned eighteen, but maybe came back to die here.

Kat had always thought that the cemetery up on the hill was awfully pretty, so maybe it wasn't such a bad place to die, but to live, _not at all_. Kat knew that more than most.

There was also the fact that Pete's bedroom was up two different sets of stairs, and that if anyone wanted to break in and murder them, they'd probably have to be Spiderman, and if Kat didn't mind getting murdered by anyone, it was probably Spiderman. Pete had, of course, also spewed some bullshit about Kat being here to protect him, which Kat had simply rolled their eyes at.

Pete could be _awfully_ sweet sometimes. Emphasis on the awful.

They'd thought about what Pete had said his friend Lindsey had asked of: someone called Mikey and all of that, and how urgent Lindsey had insisted it be. Kat wasn't quite sure what to make of that - they just knew that they couldn't put up with someone calling them Mikey, like _seriously_ just they just couldn't. That was one of the main reasons they skipped school sometimes, and then that they didn't really have friends there besides Gerard, Frank, and Pete; Pete, of course, couldn't acknowledge him there because he was still about seven thousand miles in the closet, which Kat understand, and didn't think too much of though, and Kat would honestly rather stab themself than sit and watch Gerard and Frank be all 'close'.

Kat hung out with the stoners, mainly because you smoked pot instead of making useful conversation, and they were people to skip class with. Kat wasn't an avid pot smoker, or drug user, or anything of that nature really, in fact, they'd never smoked pot outside of school at all, and it wasn't even peer pressure - just something to pass the time. It wasn't something they talked about, and that was good, because people didn't talk about them, and dear god, Kat wondered what would happen if Gerard found out.

Kat felt this odd obligation to be a good sibling and role-model for Gerard, despite the fact that Gerard was older than him. Of course, Gerard had Frank now, didn't he? So Kat didn't fucking matter at all.

They knew that wasn't true, but still, they had this awful habit of overthinking things on early mornings when they were the first one awake, and that was of course, _most_ mornings.

They jumped a little, however, as they felt a kick to their side: movement in the bed beside them - Pete.

"Morning," Pete muttered, sitting up and forcing his eyes open, meeting Kat with a smile: used to Kat being up before him by now. "Hey, you know? I had this _dream_... really weird, but not weird at all, I just..." He shook his head, brushing his hair from his face.

"Tell me?" Kat offered, sitting up a little, and throwing their boyfriend a confused look.

Pete shrugged, "well, it's kinda embarrassing, but whatever," he paused, glancing across at the window, open, of course, briefly, before continuing, "we got married, and then your brother was there and he was like 'wow I'm surprised, I thought you guys were just one big secret', and everyone else kept saying things like that... and I don't know... it freaked me out, but then, we kind of _are_ like that."

Kat nodded a little: their whole body seeming to be frozen in slow motion.

"I mean, my dad would... would _kill_ me again... but... I think maybe _someone_ should know. Because we're a thing, like _aren't_ we? I mean I never came up with a dumb name, and I'm sorry, but we're-"

"I love you." Kat said before their common sense could really catch up to them.

Pete met them wide eyed: endeared, flattered, but a little taken aback - all perfectly expectable reactions.

"I... that's what I was thinking about before you were awake. I came to that conclusion. That I love you." Kat drew in breath, "didn't exactly intend to say it, but... I guess..."

"I love you too." Pete said after a moment.

"We could tell my brother." Kat said after another.

"We could." Pete said in the moment that followed.

"We could." Kat repeated.

And in the silence that followed, they stayed for a good ten minutes: the sounds of the ocean, the sounds of the world waking up outside.

And Kat had this odd feeling in their chest that it might somehow work out this time.

And the funny thing was that Pete had the very same one.

-

The concept of living was an odd one.

The dictionary definition stated that it simply referred to 'living, being alive, not dead', but even Gerard had figured out that there was more to it than that.

It was one he found himself hard to grasp.

But to put it simply, he knew a world, a life in which he was _really_ living, he'd be excited for his best friend's birthday and not dreading it. He'd be happy for Frank, he'd be happy to go, he'd be excited to wake up in the morning, and not despise it.

Because, technically, Gerard was living. He was alive. He was not dead.

He was just awfully empty. Hollow, perhaps. Like there was nothing instead of him, like everything he'd once known was drifting out and away from him, gradually, but with no hope of it stopping, and then eventually there'd be nothing left at all.

And he was scared. Scared of that.

But scared of it never happening just as much.

Gerard didn't feel like he was living though.

He was stuck on the platform and life was a series of trains whizzing past his face all too fast, and he could never quite walk fast enough or gather the courage to get on - to go on a journey, to go anywhere, do anything.

And he stood there on this platform, day and night, day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year. And through all this time, the longer he stayed there: watching, waiting, nervous, as other people: blurs, got on trains around him, but they all left - he was the only one who seemed to be stuck there.

However, with time, the trains became less frequent, perhaps once a day, perhaps once a week, and then perhaps never at all, and he knew that the end was him alone at the platform: run down, abandoned, no hope of anything else, and it was then that he'd move, make some conscious decision and step out onto the tracks, and then the trains would come again.

Or he could get on.

It wasn't easy. It would never be easy. Gerard wasn't stupid.

But there was this train in the form of Frank Iero and his birthday party and his smile and how he seemed to care and perhaps even understand, and this one train was so fucking reluctant to leave the platform, waiting for him even, but Gerard was just as reluctant to get on.

Gerard was perhaps just as reluctant to admit to himself that he'd just compared Frank to a train.

He'd never really considered getting hit by a train.

It didn't sound particularly fun: more painful than anything - Gerard was a fan of death, but not one of pain. He'd never cut himself or anything like that - he'd never really felt inclined to; he just let himself fade out of existence from time to time. He reckoned the point of things like that was to feel something in the hellish nothingness that was, well, _depression_ , because that's what he was, depressed, not that he'd really admitted it, but he wanted to kill himself, he had _plans_ to kill himself, he was _going_ to kill himself. But in all that, he didn't want to feel anything at all.

He'd never even been to the train station. He didn't fancy it either.

But it was all besides the point, because that morning Gerard found himself sat awake not with thoughts of how he was going to kill himself but how he nearly had. Thoughts of last Thursday, thoughts of a bathtub, thoughts of pills, thoughts of Friday morning, moths, Frank, and a conversation he'd never know.

Part of Gerard wanted him to know now, though. Gerard distrusted that part of himself - it felt foreign, alien, and unnerved him to be quite honest.

He wondered what would have happened if he had killed himself last week.

He reckoned his mother never would have pulled herself together, and in consequence, that things would be bad for Kat, and that maybe people would cry, and he'd never have gotten to have gone to Frank's birthday, or even been invited.

He wondered what could happen if he didn't kill himself on November 1st, despite how uneasy the thought made him.

People would cry. He knew that now, but perhaps this was his one moment of selfish: thinking of himself and not of others, and just how disastrous that had to be.

He was glad he didn't kill himself last week.

And he didn't know how to feel about that, because all he'd ever wanted, and all he did indeed want was to be nothing more than a body at the bottom of the ocean, or a lake, perhaps, but things weren't shaping out to be as bad anymore, and he just didn't know how to feel about that.

Because he _had_ to kill himself, eventually at least.

Perhaps he'd postpone it a few days, he just didn't know yet, and he didn't know how long, and quite honestly, the idea of a second date was not one he was particularly fond of, but honestly, he wanted to be there for Frank, he wanted to see Frank turn seventeen at _least_.

He wanted to spend time with Frank, more time with Frank.

Honestly, there was a part of him that wanted to tell Frank how he felt, but he knew that was unfair, that it was unnecessarily cruel to tell a boy he loved him and then kill himself, and he knew he couldn't stomach staying around for much longer, so that was how it had to be.

Gerard jumped a little as he heard the front door slam shut: something he hadn't expected considering that it was, _fuck_ , six am, and that he had indeed been sat in one position for three hours thinking about the end of the world, or really the end of his world, in particular.

It was really the sound, the sound that came with the reminder of life and the rest of the world, that got Gerard to his feet, and brushing his hair away from his face as he made his way out of his bedroom and down the hallway, and then into the kitchen, glancing at the front door and the people stood before it.

Kat and Pete.

Who looked perhaps a little startled to see him.

Because Gerard knew about Pete, but he didn't _know_. It was complicated, and the majority of Gerard's knowledge was just things he'd inferred or picked up upon, but there they were, holding hands, at six in the morning.

"We're together." Kat said before they could really think better of themself.

Pete glanced at them: wide eyed, startled, and evidently having not expected such a thing to come, at least so soon and so bluntly.

"Like properly." Kat added a moment later, only then meeting their brother's eyes. "For real this time, and we went to tell people but not everyone but people, because we want it to work."

"Okay..." Gerard stuttered out, his tone very quiet and nervous, looking between the two as he attempted to stitch a picture of what had really been going on inside his head.

"Okay?" Kat asked, their eyes widening a little, because in their mind, this definitely warranted so much more than a fucking _okay_.

But Gerard didn't tend to say all that much.

And they knew that.

They knew that.

"Mmm..." Gerard nodded his head, "it's okay."

'Well... that's good, isn't it?" Pete added, glancing nervously between the two.

"Yeah..." Kat pushed the words out, honestly wishing Gerard had said more, wishing there'd been more to say, wishing even for a negative reaction, which they knew Gerard would never have, because Gerard was nothing but supportive and hated confrontation.

"Yeah, it's... cool..." Gerard brushed his hair away from his face, "I kind of... knew there was... something... with you two..." He trailed off again: nervous particularly in Pete's presence; he knew Pete was a good guy, but still, the lack of time they'd spent with one another still rendered Gerard a little nervous.

"Oh..." Kat added, tucking their hair behind their ears. "That's... that's..."

"I notice a lot." Gerard added, making their way over to the table and sitting down.

Pete and Kat shared a glance: a kind of what the fuck is he doing glance from Pete mainly, and one of leave him alone from Kat.

"I think.... I think you're good together," Gerard added after a moment: his gaze vacant, distant, making his lack of sleep blaringly obvious.

"Thanks?" Pete added, his tone awkward, and perhaps even unnerved by Gerard and the way he just _existed_ : so detached from everything, like he was even entirely in his own little world, which was of course something Gerard strived for, but could never quite achieve.

"You're welcome." Gerard added with a sigh, glancing up at the ceiling light, "all the moths have gone away this time of year, haven't they?"

"Y-yeah... I..." Pete stuttered out, glancing at Kat for some help in 'communicating' with their brother.

Kat rolled their eyes: a little agitated by Pete, because Gerard wasn't anything incredibly extraordinary, a little odd, yes, but everyone was a little odd.

"Yeah, it's getting colder." Kat smiled, meeting their brother's gaze. "Do you like moths?"

Gerard shrugged, "I'm indifferent, they're just important... oddly important... I was they weren't but... I shouldn't wish for anything really... it's all just... just how it is and how it's going to be," he paused, " _I'm_ indifferent."

Pete reckoned he'd never been more confused in his life.

He'd _met_ Gerard before and he was certainly more than aware of him and who he was, but still, this time was different, even Kat felt that there was something different about Gerard that day, but they had indeed put it down to sleep deprivation; Kat had this horrible, or perhaps lifesaving habit of rationalising things just to save them stressing before they'd really thought it through.

It was however, then, that in the silence, as Kat's head raced to block everything out about Gerard and what this all could mean, and Gerard's head raced to block everything out about Kat and what they could think, and _Pete_ 's head raced to try and remember whether the geography homework was due for today or not, Mrs Way walked in: a little startled to see her children and some random emo kid stood in her kitchen at half six in the morning.

"Hello?" She called out, looking between the three with confusion. "What's this?"

"Hey mum..." Kat inhaled deeply, glancing at Pete and then back at their mum, "this.... this is... my boyfriend."

" _Oh..._ " She trailed off, glancing at Gerard, "and where do you fall in all this?"

"I don't... I was just... awake..." Gerard trailed off, letting his hair fall into his face as he looked away.

"So... this is... _okay_?" Kat stuttered out: a little wide eyed and perhaps even struggling to accept it, because part of them had wanted an argument, a mess, a clusterfuck of emotions - really anything at all besides being accepted and silence and small smiles: nothing at all. Because this had been so much to them - this felt like the whole world and it was just an apple falling from a tree in everyone else's eyes.

"Of course it is, honey." She smiled, glancing past Kat at Pete, "and you're..?"

"Pete," he finished, blushing awkwardly, "I'm Pete. It's nice to meet you."

"Lovely to meet you too."

It was then that Gerard realised that he absolutely needed to get the fuck out of there before they started getting sentimental and people thought that maybe he should contribute to the conversation and just how lovely it was that everyone else was happy and doing fine.

Because he sure as hell wasn't.

And it sure as hell wasn't fair.

Much in the very same way that killing himself at age seventeen wasn't 'fair' on his family and friends.

-


	19. Friday, October 19th

Last November had and would be Gerard's _last_ November. Yet, he'd been very much unaware of it at the time, and last Christmas had been his _last_ Christmas, and yet he'd been so very unaware of it at the time. His last birthday had been his _last_ birthday, he'd been slightly more aware of it at that time. Kat's last birthday was the last one he'd be around for - this he had been aware of; he'd put in what everyone had described as entirely too much effort.

They had been very much unaware of it all.

Because that sixteenth birthday was more than _just_ a sixteenth birthday for Gerard, it wasn't just his sibling's sixteenth birthday, but Kat's seventeenth, eighteenth, nineteenth, twentieth, and every one on from that, because those were September 10ths he wouldn't live to see.

He'd painted Kat this honestly _beautiful_ watercolour piece of the beach and the ocean and the cliff tops in the background, he'd even painted two little black silhouettes upon the beach: the two of them, the two of them and the sunset. Kat said it was lovely, Kat smiled, Kat looked at it for a week, maybe two. It now lay at the bottom of a drawer somewhere.

Gerard didn't paint anymore.

Pete had given Kat a blowjob.

Gerard's paints were drying up in the drawer: his drawer - the one he kept everything that didn't matter anymore in, because _everything_ just keep itself there: present at the front of his mind, screaming, mattering, existing, yelling, and screaming, and physically putting it away, locking it away, out of sight, out of mind, did a little to cease the compulsive thoughts. Only a little.

The pills had helped with that.

But it had been so long since Gerard had taken them that he found himself honestly unable to remember anymore.

He wasn't going to start again, not even to find out, despite his curiosity, because he really didn't fucking want to get 'better', because 'better' was all a fucking lie: all in the pills and the words they force into your brain and safeguarding you and blocking you away from everything that might hurt you... it wasn't fucking real.

He couldn't take photographs on the pills. He couldn't appreciate the ocean on them. He couldn't appreciate anything. He couldn't feel anything at all.

His last November 2nd. An significant date to everyone he knew. His last November 2nd - their last that didn't hold the blow of the news of his death. So unaware. Forever. Unaware. Naive. Because Gerard kept secrets, and then suddenly come November 2nd everyone would know everything, and he honestly didn't know how to feel about that, but truth be told, he didn't have to worry, because, to put it bluntly, he'd be dead.

He was worrying in preparation, though: his whole life was perhaps one big worry, which didn't exactly make it out to be worth much, but then again, Gerard was never one for over-exaggerating, never one for lying, of course, until he had to, because there was something utterly impractical when it came to your mother asking you how you were feeling and you responding with an honest 'like I want to kill myself, literally', as opposed to a shrug and a badly annunciated grumble that may or may have not translated to 'fine' in some language, probably.

November 2nd had been a Wednesday. His last November 2nd. A fucking Wednesday. Gerard didn't dislike Wednesdays, in fact, he felt very little in regards to them at all, in fact, he felt very little in regards to most things last year - that had been when he was taking his pills.

Naivety was such an odd, such a beautiful, such a tragic concept, and one he had subjected everyone in his life to as he sat up at five in the morning on Friday the 19th of October, with little less than two weeks until he killed himself.

Gerard found himself up to see the sunrise much more frequently this week - something that he'd thought Kat only capable of, and due to the fact that Kat was perhaps the world's most extreme morning person, but Gerard's secret lay not in getting up early but never going to sleep.

He hadn't slept in almost three days now, and really it was quite the experience. He found himself surviving on caffeine and self hatred and sometimes he blinked and then when he opened his eyes it was ten minutes later, and sometimes he found himself hallucinating, but it was just dreaming without his eyes closed, and Gerard's hallucinations, were surprisingly not the most horrific things, just _odd_. Rather non-descript, if anything, which left Gerard feeling even disappointed.

The height of the excitement stirred by his hallucinations was perhaps the image of the cup on the sideboard levitating, or the room shaking, or what he experienced most frequently after focusing upon one particular object for a certain amount of time, was it refusing to take one size in his perception of it, but instead distorting as it enlarged and shrunk in size in a rather sporadic manner as he attempted to focus upon its real size and diameter, but it was hardly like seeing some hellish monster chasing after him and telling him to kill his family.

If Gerard was grateful for anything it was that he wasn't schizophrenic. He had enough problems with his own perceptions of reality as it was. He didn't need voices, he didn't need another opinion of his life and himself, and well, what was left of him.

Of course, Gerard hadn't slept in so long without a reason, although the reason itself didn't make that much sense, he just realised he didn't have so much of his life left and he disliked the notion of wasting it away sleeping, because as dull as his life was, and as much as he wanted to be rid of it, still, the notion of _wasting_ it made him inexplicably uncomfortable.

And with such sleeplessness he'd found an odd respite in the areas of his brain that ceased to function and slow down: the whole world had slowed down, and not everything felt as real or as weighed anymore, and in some way, as odd as it sounded, he felt as if he'd turned off his anxiety and his intrusive thoughts, as he found himself sat the kitchen table come six in the morning, content, and barely there, having wasted an hour away inside his own head without coming to even really realise it.

He was wasting away in that wooden chair, like this he'd even kill himself before November came around, but in this state, that thought didn't irk him as it should.

-

Gerard's head was buzzing, and not in a particularly good way, although the notion of buzzing was nothing much spectacular within itself and Gerard was well aware of that. Gerard was indeed well aware of so many things but so naive to many others, as were we all, and sometimes this seemed to matter, and sometimes this didn't, as things faded in and out of our lives: in and out of existence, in and out of importance, sometimes without us knowing it.

Gerard found himself fixated upon a certain phrase: a repeated pattern in his head that he couldn't quite get rid of: the drumbeat, the rhythm of his thoughts as he started up at the ceiling of the school corridor and counted the cracks.

'What do I matter? What do I mean?'

The weight of insignificance was a heavy one to bear, but what did it matter because no one gave a shit anyway?

His whole head was buzzing, fuck, the walls were vibrating, fuck, maybe sleep was more necessary than he had originally thought.

Gerard had never really gotten much, or perhaps _enough_ sleep, but it was all okay because he was going to have a really fucking nice long sleep come November 1st, after all, however there was quite the difference from a little sleep to absolutely _no_ sleep, and Gerard was experiencing it first hand.

There was probably a forty percent chance that he'd vomit today. Fuck, whatever, fuck what did it even all matter?

The overwhelming dull thud of hopelessness had itself pulling down on Gerard's chest, as he found himself trapped in a world he didn't want to live in, a building he didn't want to be in: a corridor, but something of course, that Gerard had _not_ yet considered, and Gerard was always one for overthinking things it until it destroyed him completely, was the fact that today was the last day of term.

Friday October 19th was the last day of term, the last day of school before a two week break.

Friday October 19th was Gerard's last day of school, _ever_.

And for the first time that day, he _smiled_ , fucking _beamed_ up at the cracks in the ceiling like a mad man, fucking stood there and looked around himself in delight, because this really hadn't quite hit him yet, and he was honestly quite glad it had before he'd started work on that History essay - due Monday November 5th.

Fuck, what on earth could November 5th possibly be like? Because, fuck, Gerard would never know, and the thought absolutely _delighted_ him, to the extent that he stood there like a madman, grinning, and honestly he must have freaked some people out because he was pretty certain that for a good proportion of people he vaguely knew, this was the first time they'd seen him smiling, and it wasn’t even a half hearted smile, it was spectacular, and unnerving, spectacularly unnerving: a masterpiece of the most wild, untamed emotion - curated with contempt, exhaustion, and a carefree attitude brought on, courtesy of fixed end date.

Gerard was really quite secure in his own little bubble: his own head, his own thoughts: the world blurring out around him, until, of course, suddenly, that bubble _physically_ broke with a hand upon his shoulder, and his whole body jerking as panic washed over him in what could easily be referred to a tsunami wave, provided of course, that there was little regard for cliché.

"Gerard, I..."

_Frank_.

As Gerard met those familiar eyes he found his heartbeat settling as his vision began to focus upon the boy, a little shorter than him, far more familiar than he should have been, before him.

Frank, who Gerard was perhaps too nonchalantly something like in love with, Frank, whose birthday was October 31st, fucking _Halloween_ , Frank, who changed this all slightly. Frank, who Gerard had attempted to avoid, ignore, not with purpose but with regard for his own mental stability, which he'd never had an abundance of as it was to begin with.

"Are you okay?" Frank's voice seemed to fade back into focus as he glanced over Gerard.

Gerard stepped a little away from Frank: a personal _space_ thing, not a personal thing. "Yeah, I..." Gerard trailed off, looking behind Frank and noticing Lindsey, leaning back against the lockers: all bright red lipstick, bubble gum, and eyebrows drawn on so she always appeared intimidating, or perhaps that was just her resting facial expression - Gerard honestly couldn't tell.

Frank turned, following Gerard's gaze to Lindsey. "Stop staring," he yelled across at her, leaving her to roll her eyes and turn back to her locker. "Sorry," he added, turning to face Gerard, "I just... you seem... _different_ today, I mean, you're smiling, but it's a _weird_ smile, I don't know, maybe it's me being weird, but I just wanted to check that everything was okay."

"Yeah," Gerard nodded, _lying_ , "I'm good. Just haven't gotten much sleep. I haven't sleep in almost three days, actually." He had no clue as to why he'd just confessed such a thing to Frank, because, of course, now Frank would worry and fret over him, when Gerard needed nothing more than for everyone to just leave him the fuck alone for the next two weeks, because that was all the time he really had left.

"Are you... _serious_?" Frank looked Gerard over with, _yes_ , concern, "you should go home and get some rest - _seriously_ , you shouldn't be at school, why haven't you slept, Gerard, I- I don't understand...?"

Gerard shrugged, biting his fingernails a little, "I don't know..." He admitted, looking down. "My head's in a weird place right now." It always was.

Frank offered him a smile in sympathy, "do you want to talk about it- not now, I need... _Lindsey_ needs me to do something, unless it's urgent, then of course, but maybe this evening or tomorrow or something-"

Gerard shrugged, biting his fingernails again; Frank tried so hard, Frank was so fucking lovely, and Frank would be so fucking upset, and Frank was so fucking beautiful.

"You're beautiful." Gerard told him, rather matter of factly, before he could really quite process what he'd just said.

Frank blinked a little: startled at first, before his face welcomed a smile, "you are too."

Gerard only nodded, because he'd heard this all a million times before, and only now had he really come to conclude that it hardly mattered at all, but then again, in the scheme of things, very little did.

"This is gonna sound weird..." Frank began, making eye contact with Lindsey briefly before turning back to Gerard, "do you happen to know anyone called Mikey or anything like that? Because, well... we, me and Lindsey, well I, I found what I think is a suicide note..."

And suddenly Gerard couldn't breathe at all: his lungs frozen, raw, aching in his chest, and then he was looking up at Frank: innocent, naive eyes, and _fuck_ , fuck, _fuck_. Of course, Frank had never known Kat as Mikey, and that simple fact had saved Gerard's life- well, honestly it did the opposite, but it felt life saving to him, _oddly_.

And with confidence, Gerard met Frank's eyes and shook his head, offering a somewhat disheartened, "no, sorry," like it was absolutely nothing at all.

-

"So we don't have a clue who 'Mikey' is, at _all_?" Lindsey let out a sigh, rolling her eyes a little in Frank's direction; the gesture wasn't purposeful, but it was by no means accidental either.

"Nope." Frank sighed in much the same manner: the two sat on Frank's front porch, having walked there straight from school. "Not a clue." He continued, lighting a cigarette.

" _Wonderful_." Lindsey rolled her eyes, grabbing a cigarette from Frank's packet and lighting it herself. "Fucking wonderful isn't it? Because you think what the easiest way to find someone that's probably our age is? School. And you know what's over for two weeks now? School."

"I know-"

"Honestly," Lindsey met his gaze, "I don't think I've _ever_ been even vaguely upset by the notion of school ending, and fucking look at me now: look at us now, look at this fucking mess, and these fucking letters, and what the fuck we're supposed to do about it."

Frank shrugged, "I really have no idea."

"That's why I'm involved." She shook her head, laughing a little to herself, "fucking goddamn it, Frank."

"Mmm?" Frank looked up at her.

"Maybe we should just hand them over to the police, you know, the people who are fucking paid to investigate shit and deal with it. They can sort it out, because it's _not_ our business, and just because you found them doesn't mean it's _you_ that's obligated to do anything about them," she paused for a moment, "yeah, we'll do that. We shouldn't have this shit on our shoulders, especially when we have time off school and your _birthday_ , and this shit is getting you down."

"There's a reason it's getting me down." Frank let out a sigh, biting his fingernails.

"Look, at least we _know_ it's not Gerard now." She placed her hand over his, "don't even lie to me, Frank, that makes this one hundred times better for you. We should just let the police deal with the rest of it, and hey, I think you should ask Gerard out, like properly."

"Lindsey, I-"

"I mean, when we don't have this mess fucking up our lives, then you'll have the time for other things, and well, seeing as you're so fucking head over heels for him, and it's evident that he cares about you to a great extent, then, I'm just saying, why not?" Her face lit up into a grin, "didn't you ask him to hang out at your house at some point anyway?"

"Yeah, but..." Frank bit his lip, "he's a bit fucked up right now. He hasn't been sleeping in particular, I just wanna talk and make sure everything's okay. Sometimes he talks to me, properly, and then sometimes he doesn't say a word and we just sit there together and that's okay too, and then there was this one time when he spoke, but only in French."

"Why?" Lindsey's face lit up in confusion. "You can't speak a word of French - what's the point in that?"

"That's the very point," Frank smile a little, "he wanted to speak, but not for me to know what about. And I'm okay with that, because that's just Gerard sometimes... he's a little weird, there's definitely _something_ off, but it doesn't affect me - I care about him for who he is."

"Okay calm down, Romeo, so are you going to ask him or not? Maybe don't make it so formal, maybe just casually throw in the fact that you're romantically interested in him, and then just as casually suggest the idea of kissing?" Lindsey went on to suggest, leaning back against Frank's house.

Frank shrugged, "look, I mean, if he throws some serious shit in my direction when we're talking then it might not be entirely appropriate to be like, oh hey, wanna make out? But, I guess, I guess I might as well... I think... I don't know, I think we'd both be fine if he didn't feel that way."

"Oh, _come on_." Lindsey rolled her eyes, "have you even seen the way he looks at you?"

Frank blushed, "what?"

"Nothing," she sat up, smiling, "so, those letters, do you want me to take them on my way home?"

Frank bit his lip: hesitant for a moment, because he felt oddly attached to it all, as if it was his responsibility, and those letters held so much, but so little, because they belonged to one person with a hell of a big mess in their head, and it was all absolutely anything _but_ Frank's business, but still, still he was hesitant.

" _Well_?" Lindsey looked down at him.

"Yeah," Frank bit his lip, looking away as he nodded, "yeah, that's best."

Frank wasn't quite so sure.

-


	20. Saturday, October 20th

Gerard doesn't spend enough time in Frank's house.

Truth be told, Gerard doesn't have a lot of time left to spend in Frank's house.

But today is Saturday.

His second to last Saturday.

_Ever_.

And that held a sort of weight in his chest, right where his heart was, as he looked at Frank in the mid morning light: Saturday air, little said between them, and two mugs of coffee made by Frank even though he was bad at making coffee, and his house empty, and the two of them sat in his bedroom on the windowsill that extended inwards into some sort of seat thing, with Frank at one end and Gerard at the other and ashtray between them - an ashtray only Frank used, because Gerard would never smoke, he knew that. Much like he knew that this was one of the last times.

The last times it could be like this.

And here he was, not even making the most of it, just sat there in thought, and fuck, he had so much time to think when he hardly slept.

He had slept some last night, though: a mere three hours, but it was something, and he was starting to worry that his body had become accustomed to not sleeping, and that he'd live out the last stretch of his life as an insomniac, not that it mattered, at all, in the short period of time he had left, but still, it was _something_ else to think about other than killing himself, wasn't it?

Frank was like that too.

Just something else to think about.

Except he wasn't.

That had been evident from the very start of October.

Frank had always been more than that.

Frank had made him coffee even though he didn't really know how to make it well, and Frank had given up his Saturday to sit, and not even talk, but sit in silence with some weird guy who he'd somehow found himself acquainted with.

And Frank was of course absolutely beautiful, but not just aesthetically: fully, through and through, beautiful, a beautiful person, not just a pretty face.

He wondered what state of hell he'd find himself in next Saturday.

Saturday the 27th. His final Saturday.

Gerard's stomach began to churn as he thought about it, and the very real prospect of an ever approaching end, and then the silence and the nothingness, and the end of the world for him at least, and the end of Saturdays, the end of Sundays, the end of Mondays too. He'd always hated Mondays.

"It's Saturday," Gerard finally said with a certain stupidity in his tone, to which Frank only smiled at, taking a drag of his cigarette, because he knew, and Gerard knew he knew, but still Gerard wanted to tell him nonetheless, and wanted to express the fact that he thought it important, or the fact that he'd been thinking about it.

Frank was getting better at it now.

Understanding Gerard, that was, of course, he'd never be perfect, because no one would, and he was already doing better than Kat as he'd accepted that.

But Frank was still far _, far_ off, because he'd by this point concluded that Gerard had nothing to do with the letters, and let Lindsey take them down to the police station, which was easily what they should have done in the first place, but didn't, because Frank... honestly, Frank didn't know. Frank didn't know why, but he felt an odd importance and connection with those letters: one he couldn't put his finger on.

"Yeah," Frank smiled a little more, "it is, isn't it?"

Gerard nodded, glancing down at his legs crossed, and his feet, and then Frank's legs pulled up to his chest and the hole in his socks. Frank inhaled another puff of nicotine, and Gerard watched as his cheeks hollowed out and then the way the light and shadow reflected perfectly upon his face, and for once in his life regretted his disinterest in portraiture, because to photograph Frank, to capture this moment, this one, and this only, would be all: a Saturday, the penultimate Saturday - a title that sounded far more foreboding than Saturday 20th of October, which was what it really was.

"You're beautiful," Gerard said rather casually, naturally perhaps, in that just _Gerard_ manner of his, that always had Frank lost for breath and what to say.

Frank blushed a little, looking down, and tapping his ash into the ashtray, "so are you." Frank had this odd compulsion in returning compliments, and Gerard had noticed, and wondered, but never asked, because there was no point in opening doors to rooms he'd wouldn't have enough time to explore.

No point in boarding trains to destinations he'd never reach.

Not now.

"I slept a little last night," Gerard said, because he knew Frank had been worried about him, and he didn't blame him, because it was of course only natural for Frank to worry, but honestly when you were considering the best methods of suicide on a regular basis, how much sleep you were getting hardly felt significant at all.

"You need to sleep more," Frank told him, like he was more of his mother than his friend, and Gerard didn't say much in response until a good four minutes had passed.

At some point in those four minutes he'd come to conclude that very little could come of him and well of anything in the twelve or so days he had remaining alive, and in such a revelation, he found himself giving honesty a shot, and looking Frank straight in the eyes, because Frank had beautiful eyes, and Frank was just generally beautiful, and Gerard wished he had longer than twelve days to spend with him, but he knew that this was just how it had to be now.

"I'm very sad," Gerard said with a slow exhale: his eyes forever fixated upon Frank's, watching as his brow furrowed a little and his gaze softened to give way to sadness and a hint of confusions - questions he'd didn't dare ask, because Frank tread more carefully around him  now, more than he used to, and he knew it was to do with Kat, and he hated it. "Don't do that."

"What?" Frank asked.

"Not say what's on your mind, because you think it will hurt me. It doesn't matter, ask your questions, I'm not a fucking piece of glass, I'm not fragile." Truth be told, Gerard was quite fragile, but honestly if his piece of glass self got shattered in what was to come, he couldn't care less.

"I know." Frank paused, lighting another cigarette before continuing, "I know you're not fragile and I know you're sad. I can feel it. The sad thing. And I don't like it. I want to help, but I don't know what I can do to help, I just know, sleep tends to make things better, and talking to people, but I'm obviously not an expert, I mean, I’m not the best at talking about my feelings either, even to you, so call me a hypocrite, or whatever."

Gerard sat in consideration and silence for a moment, before looking up and asking, "why don't you talk to me about your feelings?" He bit his lip, "what feelings are these? What do you mean?"

Frank shrugged: regretting telling Gerard and letting him spin it all on him, not that he blamed Gerard, of course. "I thought we were here to talk about you, not me." He laughed a little.

"We can both talk." Gerard shrugged, "I just want to know things about you, Frank."

"As do I you. You're not one for letting people in, though."

"I'm not." Gerard nodded. Frank knew he wasn't going to change that, and if anyone could, that he certainly wasn't the one.

"Can I ask why not?" Frank said after a moment, his gaze travelling off outside, to the town and the shoreline, the whole world outside, and how even the beauty of the ocean didn't compare to Gerard, and how Gerard knew that on the level that Frank told him so regularly, but how Gerard didn't have the slightest fucking clue as to how much truth it really held.

Gerard seemed distant when it came to the matter of response, as part of him really didn't know why, but another knew only that he didn't want to tell Frank, but another felt on fire, even _alive_ with the ever-growing closeness of November 1st, and reveled in the realisation that nothing much held any weight anymore.

"You can." Gerard said after a moment: it was a fucking bullshit, arsey response and he knew that well, but still, he knew Frank didn't quite dare to get angry with him, much like he knew that Frank just didn't want to.

"Can you answer?" Frank asked, a small smile upon his lips.

"I can." Gerard met his gaze, laughing a little then.

" _Will_ you answer?" Frank stressed, sharing a smile with Gerard.

Gerard bit his lip, pulling his gaze away, because above everything else there was just an overwhelming sense that he just _didn't know_. "I don't know." Frank let out a sigh, leaning back against the wall.

"I don't know." Gerard repeated, meeting his gaze this time, "I don't know why I'm like this... I just am, and I... I don't know... it's just a thing I can't control, a part of me... the fucked up bit of my head."

"The fucked up part of your head." Frank repeated to himself, "you never told me what it was that was 'fucking up your head'."

"I never did." Gerard nodded, trailing off, "I think I'm depressed, well, that I haven't been diagnosed with, but considering the stuff that goes through my head regularly it's pretty safe to say I am. And then there is what I'm diagnosed with, which is autism."

"Oh..." Frank didn't know what to expect, but he hadn't been expecting that. Honestly, he hadn't been expecting Gerard to answer at all. "I wouldn't have guessed."

Gerard shrugged, "I'm not severely so or anything, but, I'd say it's there. I mean, I'm not _normal_ , whatever normal means, but... you, you knew there was _something_."

"People are all a little odd." Frank added, with a small smile.

"I think I'm more than a little odd," Gerard let out a sigh, "I'm really fucked up in the head," he laughed a little, "and you sense that, but you don't know the extent of it, but you shouldn't know the extent of it, because I'm gonna be okay, and I mean that. It's all gonna be okay."

Frank paused for a moment, "I don't know if I ever told you, I mean, I don't know, I think I didn't, because I think I would remember it, I think it would hold some weight, but with you, I mean talking to you about things, it's different to other people and I'm not sure how or why, but it _is_."

Gerard nodded, pulling his knees up to his chest, "I know what you mean."

And then silence, for a good few moments, as Frank finished his cigarette and lit another: events in quick succession of one another. "I'm gay," he said before he could really think about it. He exhaled and glanced up at Gerard, who seemed to have no reaction at all. "I just, well, I guess you feel like you're weird and fucked up so, I thought I'd..."

"It's not weird or fucked up." Gerard let out a sigh. Wanting to kill yourself was weird and fucked up. What was even weirder, even more fucked up, was this weird state of romanticised self-destruction that Gerard found himself trapped in. But he couldn't deny himself the 'beauty' he saw in it all.

"I know, I'm just... I know what it feels like to _feel_ weird and fucked up." Frank bit his lip, "Lindsey knows, I mean she practically had to extract it out of me, and she's supportive, and it's okay, but it's just... and I mean I'm not actively lying to my other friends by not telling them, I'm just... avoiding the truth. I'm good at that. Avoiding the truth, especially when I had a crush on a boy and was still insistent that I was straight." Frank laughed a little.

Gerard came to conclude that perhaps he wasn't straight either then, but came to remind himself that it also didn't matter at all because Frank would never, could never know, because it was all too late now. "I don't avoid the truth, I just don't tell people."

"Maybe you should. Talk to people, maybe me, maybe not me. Whoever." Frank took a drag of his cigarette, "talking to people is good for you."

"Maybe I don't want what's good for me." Gerard said before he could stop himself; he caught Frank's gaze and instantly regretted it. "Because more than anything I'm in love with this feeling I get when everything goes to shit and I stand there, motionless, nothing at all, just watching it all: chaos around me - letting go, carelessness."

Frank was silent at that. "You can't live like that."

"I _know_." Gerard exclaimed, forcing back the urge to _laugh_ , because goddamn he knew that more than anything, god fucking damn his whole life revolved around the knowledge that he couldn't live with himself.

"And you don't care." Frank let out a sigh, "you're so lovely, but not lovely to yourself. You care about everyone else. Everything is because you wouldn't dare hurt me or Kat or anyone else you love or care about, and everything is to spite yourself."

"Yeah," Gerard nodded, brushing his hair away from his face, because he sat here with a boy he wanted to kiss, a boy he'd fallen for, but he sat here still, with nothing much to say for himself, because mourning was bad enough without heartbreak.

"I think maybe, you should do one thing, just one, for yourself, to make yourself that little bit happy or whatever, and not care so much about who it hurts, even if it hurts me." Frank suggested.

"I think maybe you should stop tempting me, because all the things I want to do, but don't are because they are the worst ideas in the world." Gerard pulled his gaze away from Frank and focused upon the days he had left: all twelve of them, and how little time and how little meaning they held to him, but how much they _would_ hold to everyone who out lived him, to Kat, to perhaps _Frank_ in particular.

He wondered how he'd add up conversations, little hints and glimpses into what was really going in his head, like this one, come November 2nd. Because then he'd have made sense of it all, and Frank would know most of all, what state he'd been in. And come November 2nd, Frank would be the embodiment of regret and sorrow.

And Gerard knew that there, right there was the one thing he was doing, just for himself, that would hurt everybody else.

And that he shouldn't make it worse.

"Maybe you should just say fuck it, and do what _you_ want." Frank met his gaze with a smile.

But part of him honestly wanted to, and he wanted that more than anything.

Because there was just something about the power he held here: some form of control for the first time in his life.

"You're lovely though, Frank. I don't want to hurt you." Gerard blushed a little, looking down. "I mean, it wouldn't hurt you immediately, or directly, but it will and when it does, it's.. it's gonna hurt a lot. And I mean, it already is, what I want to do is just adding to the blow, and I don't want to hurt you more than I have to. I don't even want to tell you more than I have to because that would hurt you too, and you'd end up hating yourself, but... I don't know... I don't know, Frank, you make me very confused about the things I had set out solidly in my mind for months and months."

"Do you think maybe you could explain a little?" Frank asked, a small smile upon his face. "You don't have to, of course you don't, but I think I'd like to understand."

Gerard only let out a sigh at that, "you _think_ you do."

"Okay..." Frank trailed off, a little disheartened, "if you can't tell me, then maybe tell me what you want to do but think will hurt me. And I could help you decide whether you should do it."

"You could." Gerard let out a sigh, "you'll only want me to do it, but you won't understand that it's a bad thing and it's going to fuck things up much more than they need to be."

"And how can you be sure of all of that?" Frank found himself asking, perhaps a little tentatively.

"Because you get a lot of thinking done when you don't sleep but just sit on your floor and drive yourself crazy at night." Gerard admitted, perhaps all too casually.

"You shouldn't do that, Gerard," he told him, "you really shouldn't."

"I know." Gerard let out a sharp gasp of air. "All the things in my head shouldn't be there, but they _are_ , and what should I do about that? Do about what I want to do? What should I do when I want to ruin everything? I'm fucking things up, and then you're fucking things up more, it's like the two of us together are like some form of hurricane in my life, but I don't... I don't want to... I _want_ to spend time with you."

"Tell me what you want to do, Gerard," Frank suggested, "focus on that instead of why you shouldn't. Maybe focus on why you should."

"I should because maybe for this once I should be selfish, and it won't matter to me soon, and it won't matter to you now." Gerard paused, "but there's-... there's just... I want to kiss you." And like that, the words were out his mouth before he could stop them.

And Frank was kind of having a low-key heart attack.

"And you want to kiss me too, because you like me like that, and I've known that for a little while now, and I've known I like you too, but it’s not going to work and I don't want to make a mess. But I think you're lovely."

"So, _fuck,_ Gerard you knew I have feelings for you and you never fucking thought to mention it to me-"

"I did, I just- I thought-"

Frank didn't wait for Gerard to finish, only leaned forward and kissed him.

Well tried to.

Gerard stumbled to his feet, pushing Frank away, and leaving him panicking and cursing the fact that he knew he should have asked first.

"I'm sorry, I-"

"I'm not mad at you." Gerard said after a moment, stood about a meter away from Frank, "I just... I'd feel guilty, doing this to you."

"Doing _what_?" Frank exclaimed.

"I can't tell you. I'm really sorry but I just _can't_."

"You know what, Gerard? Fuck it, I don't even care, I don't fucking care how you're going to ruin my life or whatever, I just know, that more than anything else, I want to kiss you. _Please_ let me kiss you."

"You might regret it-"

"I don't _care_!" Frank exclaimed, getting to his feet, "fuck, I don't think you understand how beautiful you are, and how hard it is not just kiss you all the time but I couldn't fuck things up because I didn’t think you wanted that, but you _do_ , and I just... I don't understand, and I'm _not_ going to understand, am I?"

Gerard shook his head. "Not yet."

"Then let me be hurt later instead of now."

Gerard remained silent for a moment, before he muttered a quick, barely audible, "okay."

-


	21. Sunday, October 21st

It was one am.

Or close to that, at least.

Twelve fifty eight.

Close enough.

And Gerard was half asleep.

They were sat on Frank's bed now.

They, being Frank and Gerard, the two of them, as an item, a collective, a two piece, _something_ more than just Gerard Way, and then Frank Iero, but not solid enough to real _mean_ something, not quite yet.

Perhaps not quite ever.

Maybe Gerard wouldn't end up living that long.

And Frank sat there unaware.

They were sat on the end of Frank's bed, Frank having laid back and Gerard curled up almost awkwardly: desperately trying to fake the image of comfort, and feeling safe inside himself, inside the mistake he'd made, and with Frank's fingers reaching out to touch his.

A mistake among many: at home, perhaps, but still out of place: the rebellious teenager in the house of the perfect family, perhaps, but nowhere near as glamorous, nowhere near as cliché, or theatrical, just a mistake, and Gerard knew he really should stop glorifying things, but there was this horrible affliction cursed upon him, in the form of an addiction with his own inadequacies.

Perhaps instead he should sit there, making something beautiful out of the idea of Frank, and not the one of his own death, and heartbreak, and the wreck he'd leave behind him.

But Frank was already beautiful.

There was nothing left for Gerard to think, for him to say even, as they sat in prolonged silence, and Gerard wondered when they'd try sleeping, or when he'd have to leave, because it was usually Frank in his room, and Frank sort of seemed to know what to do with himself better than Gerard did.

For a start, Frank hadn't tried to drown himself in a bath little over a week ago.

For a start, Frank wasn't going to drown himself in a lake in little over a week's time.

For a start, Frank was going to have a November, and a December, and a Christmas.

And Gerard found himself _hurting_ at the notion, and glancing at Frank, and finding the younger boy smiling at him in the darkness.

Because somehow, in naivety, Frank was happy, silent yet content, in the fact that they'd kissed, and it hadn't been spectacular or romantic, just _kissing_ , just something, just an ache in Gerard's chest, and his mouth wetter than it had been before: an awkward kiss, a stumbled kiss, before Frank seemed to have forgotten that he was shorter than Gerard just as he'd leaned in, but it had been okay, they'd managed it, and Frank had told him that he was beautiful again, and Gerard had nodded, silently returning it, and then, they'd sat, a little closer for the rest of the night, and for the most part Gerard had listened to Frank talk, and now, come perhaps twenty minutes ago, Frank had run out of things to say.

Silence was okay, though. They were okay, though.

Gerard's whole life seemed to consist of late nights and early mornings, and silence, and too many feelings, and too many regrets: a mess of a life, and a mess of an ending, because this was something like his final chapter now - his not quite final week, but this was definitely the wrapping up of it all.

This was indeed him getting everything in order.

He still hadn't quite managed to write a decent suicide note to _anyone_ even in weeks now, and it had come to the point where he'd almost given up, but, he owed Frank much more than a pretty polaroid of the ocean now, now with what had happened.

Because he'd let him kiss him.

He'd let this happen.

He was letting this happen.

And he could stop it.

But he wouldn't.

Of course, he wouldn't.

Even with an odd crushing kind of guilt about this all, because suddenly he really was the bad person here, because he was going to hurt Frank more than he needed to be hurt, and here he was, letting it all happen, doing very little at all.

"You try so hard with me," Gerard found himself saying: his voice barely audible, but loud enough for Frank to pick up as he leaned in closer, sitting up. "You don't make me speak. When there's silence or I'm speaking French, or anything."

Frank smiled a little, "I care more that you're comfortable, and hope that you'll tell me what you need to when you're comfortable."

Gerard shrugged, blushing a little, "I'm not going to get comfortable with myself."

"Not ever?" Frank raised his eyebrows, "not ever? In your _whole_ life?"

And perhaps it sounded a little less realistic with an idea that Gerard might live for another sixty years, and not eleven days.

"Not in the whole of the rest of my life." Gerard sighed a little. "I never told you what I said in French that time."

"You never did." Frank nodded, sitting closer to Gerard and properly entwining their hands, and causing Gerard to shiver a little at the touch, "fuck, sorry- I keep forgetting to ask, I just-"

"No, it's fine, I'm just... _jumpy_ , I guess..." Gerard let out a sigh, because it sounded like bullshit, and it was bullshit, but 'no it's fine, I'm just suicidal, I guess' didn't sound as good. Wouldn't go down as well, something like that.

"So what did you say in French?" Frank asked, leaving Gerard doing his best to focus on something other than the way Frank's hand was clutched around his.

"That's... the... _point_..." Gerard let out a sigh, "I'm not going to tell you, because I'm not comfortable, because that's the beauty of a language you don't understand - I can be _brutally_ honest, and I was, I said everything, and you understood nothing, and it was fucking wonderful, and not because I want to make you look stupid or anything, it was just saying it aloud, and it being heard, because I would like to be heard, I just know I can't be, not yet, because you'd react in a certain way and I'm not ready for that - it can't happen, not yet."

"So when will I find out? I wish you'd tell me," Gerard shrugged awkwardly away from Frank's question, "what about on my birthday? As a present?" Frank laughed a little.

Gerard looked up at him, "you'll find out about then, a bit after, maybe a day or two, but around then, I think so, yeah, you will."

"I'm looking forward to it." Frank smiled a little.

"Don't." Gerard told him.

Frank laughed.

He thought he was joking.

-

Gerard made his way back home at something like two am.

He hadn't expected anyone to be awake, let alone wait up for him, but someone had. Kat had.

Kat was sat at the kitchen table, leaping to their feet as Gerard opened the front door, letting in a gust of cold October air as he did so.

"Where have you been?" Kat explained: more worried than angry, but still, it wasn't a gesture Gerard appreciated: having found that he didn't much care for pity or sympathy. "I was worried, I still am worried, I- hell, I don't know what I would have done if-"

"I was with Frank." Gerard said rather simply, brushing his hair away from his face and putting his coat upon the hook.

"Oh..." Kat seemed to freeze at that: the mention of Frank morphing the situation completely, and by now, Gerard had even expected it to - that, of course, didn't make it any better, he just found himself more accustomed to it - complacent, letting everything fade and rush past him as he lived out his last few days.

"What were you doing until two in the morning?" Kat continued to ask, meeting Gerard's gaze. "You've been out since midday, have you spent all that time with him?"

Gerard nodded, "I did."

Kat looked shocked more than anything; he didn't reckon Gerard had the emotional capacity for such an extended period of interaction with one person, even if it was Frank, whatever that meant, fuck, whatever Frank meant.

Kat didn't hate Frank.

Kat had made friends with Frank first, hadn't they?

Kat was just jealous, and of course, for unexplainable reasons.

"What's going on with you and him?" Kat asked, cutting the bullshit down to the bone.

"What do you mean?" Gerard asked, biting his lip a little.

"What I'm saying." Kat told him, rather matter of factly. "What is the deal? Why is he special, why is he different?"

"He just is." Gerard shrugged it off, "he just... he gets things, or he accepts that he can't understand and leaves it at that and doesn't make me talk, and doesn't make me do anything, and genuinely cares - he's just lovely."

"Lovely." Kat repeated: unsure what to make of such a claim.

"Yeah, he is." Gerard nodded, smiling a little. "He's also naive and oblivious as fuck, but that... that's okay too."

"Naive? Oblivious?" Kat exclaimed, taken aback, "what do you mean?"

Gerard shrugged, "he doesn't know what's going on half the time, but that's okay, because maybe I don't want him to, I like that he doesn't know, because I don't like when people know things about me, when people make assumptions. You do that a lot, I don't like it."

"I can't help it, Gerard, it's human nature." Kat told him, letting out a sigh.

"Then stop being human," Gerard rolled his eyes a little, "bend the rules of the fucking universe for me, Kat, or don't, because I don't matter, whatever."

"Of course you matter, Gerard, come _on_ , you're making no sense at all, I just-" Kat shook their head as Gerard pulled away from them. "What's Frank said to you?"

"Nothing. Well he talked for ages, just about his day and his friends, and stuff, and it's nice to listen to him talk, it's lovely, he just talks, and doesn't make me respond, because I like listening more than I like talking and he gets that-"

"Something's changed," Kat looked their brother up and down, "something _has_ changed, you're different somehow."

Gerard shrugged, knowing it was something to do with the fact that nothing was going to matter anymore after he'd kill himself in eleven days time. "I don't know."

"Did Frank _do_ anything?" Kat asked, somehow certain that it was Frank, because something was _off_ with Gerard, and Gerard didn't just _change_.

Gerard shrugged, "not really, well he did kiss me, but that didn't change anything, really I mean-"

"He _kissed_ you?" Kat's eyes widened, looking Gerard over in disbelief.

Gerard nodded, "yeah, why?"

"He kissed you." Kat repeated, " _fuck_. That was it - he likes you, it makes sense now, fucking makes sense, so what? Did you kiss him back?"

"No, not at first, because it was a bad idea, but then I let him, because he insisted, and I mean, I wanted to kiss him as well, I think he's lovely, I just know it's a bad idea. And it wasn't particularly spectacular and nothing really came of it, we just continued talking after that."

"So, so, you-" Kat asked, meeting Gerard's eyes, "you like him? So this is a thing? Is it?"

"I like him, but we're not... we're not _dating_ if that's what you mean, fuck, of course we're not dating." Gerard turned away, biting his lip, "I can't _date_ him, that'd only fuck things up further, I already feel like... like shit for kissing him... I shouldn't- I shouldn't have done that to him."

"Done what, Gerard? What do you mean?" Kat continued, stepping closer to their brother, Gerard stepped away.

"Just... just... fucked things up: I'm fucking things up: eternally, perpetually, and it's not going to stop unless I force it to, and that's not happening _yet,_ and I should stop... I should stop fucking with people, but I can't help it-"

"Gerard, please, you're not, you're not..." Kat tried again, stepping closer, "fuck, Gerard, please let me hug you or something."

Gerard shook his head, "it doesn't- it's.... I need to go to sleep. It's two in the morning. I need some sleep. I haven't gotten very much sleep lately, maybe that's why everything's going to shit, just crumbling around me."

"It's not like that-" Kat pleaded.

Gerard shook his head, "stop acting like you know things about me, stop acting like you understand, stop acting altogether. I love you, Kat, but you... you just... you don't understand like you think you do. You don't understand at all."

And with that, Gerard made his way down the corridor and into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him, and laying down in his bed, and of course doing _anything_ but sleeping.

-

Handing in the suicide letters to the police had taken one thing off Lindsey’s mind - their response hadn't been exactly phenomenal, but honestly, what else could she have done? It was also evident that it was fucking with Frank to an insane extent, and when it came down to it, she had to put her friends over people she didn't know, as harsh as that might sound.

The other thing, was of course, _Pete_ , who'd been very obviously off with her and well just about everyone, and Ray was too nice to confront him, and Frank was too caught up in his own shit to have the time, so therefore it fell to her to make her way over to Pete's house at two in the afternoon, and to knock on the door and wait outside for a good thirty seconds, however to find no response, and that the door was in fact _open_.

She shrugged it off, because okay, yeah it was a bad idea, but it was two in the afternoon and the only people who lived on Pete's road were over the age of seventy, so it was highly unlikely they'd be overly keen to come in and assault him, and made her way inside.

Strangely, there didn't seem to be any sign of Pete, downstairs at least, and after she called out his name, if not a little quietly, and found no response, she made her way upstairs, and stood outside his bedroom, wondering if he was still asleep somehow, or maybe even naked or something, and of course whether it was morally right just to walk into his room, and just how much angrier this would inevitably make him.

Eventually, she decided to push all such thoughts aside and just open the door and make her way inside, with one bold movement - perhaps too bold, in fact, perhaps because Lindsey really hadn't accounted for just _what_ had kept Pete so preoccupied up in his bedroom.

The answer was, well, kissing someone, with a low hum of music in the background, which must have masked all of the noise Lindsey had been making, but Lindsey was a little more taken aback by the masculine appearance of the person, who she had assumed to be a boy, who however was not, than the Clash record playing in the background.

"Fuck!" Pete exclaimed, jumping up as he noticed Lindsey's presence: all opened mouthed and wide eyed, struggling to take in and really comprehend just what she'd managed to walk in on. "What the fuck? What? Why are you here? What the fuck, Lindsey?"

She turned to the person still sat rather awkwardly on Pete's bed, before responding; they appeared more apologetic than anything else, with glasses and light brown hair.

"If you don't want people to walk in on you then maybe consider locking your fucking _door_." Lindsey rolled her eyes, "I needed to talk to you, I mean, something was up, I'm guessing that something is this-"

"Lindsey, please just-" Pete exclaimed, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Please just what? Leave you the fuck alone? No, you need to talk about your problems, and... your... your fucking... whoever this is," She gestured towards the person sat on the bed, "sorry, I- I'm sorry," she added to them. "This is a sexuality thing, then- fuck, I... I should have known, I-..."

"Stop making bullshit assumptions." Pete interrupted her, his tone somewhat snappy.

"Well, I think sexuality issues is a rather logical conclusion to come to when I walk in on you kissing a boy." She let out a sigh.

"Uhh... I'm not actually a boy," the person on the bed spoke up, "uhh... I...." they blushed, looking down, "I'm gender neutral, I don't know if you know what that is, but it's like, neither a boy or a girl... I... I'm Kat, by the way. And I use they/them pronouns, so it's not like he, it's they." They blushed again, looking up at Lindsey.

"Oh," Lindsey blushed a little too, "sorry, Kat, nice to meet you, awkward situation but, I-"

"Lindsey, please can you just _fuck_ off!" Pete raised his voice more, growing angrier.

"Pete, please," Kat interrupted him, "you know this is how it always fucks up, because you can't come to terms with yourself and people knowing, and don't let it happen again, because I fucking love you, _please_."

Pete let out a sigh, biting his lip as he met Kat's gaze, "sorry... I... I... just... I'm freaking the fuck out.

"I know you are, and it makes sense too, but Lindsey seems nice." Kat insisted, glancing back up at Lindsey. "She doesn't mind, does she?"

"I don't." She told Pete rather matter of factly, "it's evidently you keeping this a secret that's fucking you up more than anything, and you're not the only queer friend I have, Pete-"

"Wait, what, _who_?" Pete exclaimed.

"I think there's maybe something about not outing other people that's just basic manners," she narrowed her eyes a little, leaving Pete blushing awkwardly, "so, this... you and... t-them? Is that right, sorry I don't really know how to use they pronouns?"

"Yeah, it's... yeah that's right." Kat blushed a little, nodding. "And yeah, we're dating," they added, before Pete could dig himself into an even deeper hole.

"Yeah," Pete let out a sigh: relieved because this was nowhere near as bad as he had imagined it to be.

"Shall I leave now?" Lindsey asked, laughing a little.

" _Yes_." Pete insisted: cheeks burning up.

-


	22. Monday, October 22nd

"So?"

Lindsey was the one to break the silence.

The two of them, them being Lindsey and Frank, stood on the beach in the rain and with particularly ugly coats on, with Daisy on the end of a leash in Frank's hand.

Lindsey had turned up to Frank's in order to shelter from the rain that had come out of seemingly nowhere, as she lived a good twenty minutes away and Frank's house was much, much closer, however she'd caught him going out for a walk with Daisy, and Lindsey had thought 'fuck it', and grabbed an ugly coat, courtesy of Linda Iero, and joined him on the dog walking adventure.

However, it was easily the most depressing adventure known to man, as it had been spent in bleak, almost numbing silence as the two walked down to the beach, only to final stop a few metres away from the shoreline as Frank set his gaze out upon the horizon and murky grey ocean and the way it seemed to fade into the cloudy grey sky.

Frank's eyes widened a little: Lindsey's words seeming to catch him by surprise, as he turned to face her, a little startled.

"So." Lindsey repeated, her voice a little quieter this time. "What's happened? _Something_ has happened, come on, you know it. I know it. I bet you," Lindsey gestured to Frank's dog, "Daisy knows it too."

Frank managed a little laugh in response to that. "I'd doubt it. Daisy isn't exactly the sharpest dog... in the box... of dogs... or something... that works better with crayons than it does dogs."

Lindsey smiled, before meeting Frank's eyes with a slightly more serious tone, "so there _is_ something up?"

"Yeah..." Frank shrugged a little, "I don't know, I mean, I _should_ be happy, because well... something happened with me and Gerard - we kissed, and it was... it was lovely, he's lovely, but... I don't know, I can't help but feel like there's something else, like maybe he doesn't really like me or something... it just feels weird on his part, I don't know. Maybe I'm just overthinking things, but then, my mum's just bitching at me generally, and it's not helping my mood."

"Hey..." Lindsey placed a hand on Frank's shoulder, "I _promise_ you, you're overthinking things, you can tell Gerard has feelings for you. It's fucking _blindingly_ obvious."

"I don't know." Frank shrugged, "I think it's the whole gay thing - maybe that's a bit weird for him, I mean, we'd never talked about that before, maybe he's annoyed that I never told him I'm gay before we-"

"Yes, Frank, he was _definitely_ so annoyed - so annoyed that he decided to kiss you to show how annoyed he was." Lindsey laughed a little, shaking her head, "he loves you. I promise."

"Mmm..." Frank nodded, biting his lip: still a little unsure. "The whole gay thing is kind of fucking with my head though, because like, my birthday party, and then people are going to be there, and then Gerard... Gerard's there as well, as my boyfriend- like... I don't know... but I feel like Pete would just be a dick about it."

Lindsey laughed at that, "no, trust me. He would _not_."

Frank raised his eyebrows in confusion, "what do you mean? Are you suggesting something here?"

"No," Lindsey shook her head, blushing a little, "well, look, Pete's business is Pete's business, but he's not going to make a shitshow out of it. I promise. Trust me."

Frank nodded slowly, coming to accept that there was definitely something going on with Pete, and that Lindsey knew what it was, and that perhaps it was of a slightly less than heterosexual nature.

"Is he okay though?" Frank asked, feeling Daisy tug at her leash a little as she began to kick at the dirt. He let her off it in response and watched as she ran a little way down the beach.

"Yeah, I guess, for the most part." Lindsey concluded after a moment's thought. "But it's nothing we have to particularly worry about. We're all good now, can officially think about your birthday party and how to illegally obtain excessive amounts of alcohol for it."

Frank's face broke into a grin at that, "now you've got me excited."

"Knew I would."

-

The feeling of waking up on a Monday morning and not having to go to school that day, or even for the next two weeks, and for Gerard, the rest of his life, was indeed wonderful, but not exactly revolutionary.

There was no hope for revolution anymore, there was little hope for anything at all, as Gerard’s heart hung closer to the ground than usual, struggling to bare the weight of regret, the wright of guilt - the weight of emotions that Gerard had never once fucking asked for.

Gerard had never asked for this, never asked for Frank, because Frank was indeed the root cause of this - not that he was to blame, because Gerard would never ever let alone blame Frank for this, but Frank had happened, and that was out of Gerard’s control.

And he didn't like the idea of that at all.

But he liked Frank an awful lot.

He just didn't like the way he changed him, the way he made him feel, almost _happy_ , the way things changed, the way his head became affected, because he hadn't liked that with his pills either - the alterations of his emotions and the physical effect on him on a whole - it had been positive, but it made his skin crawl, it made him feel unnatural, fake, manufactured, and as if the new form his body was taking might spit the physical force of him right fucking out, because it wouldn't want him, _he_ didn't want him.

Gerard could empathise, but never sympathise.

Another flaw.

Gerard could understand the whole world of mistake and regret and the difference between bad and good decisions, but that would never stop him fucking up big time with a kiss and such a beautiful, _beautiful_ person.

Because this was the start.

This was the home run.

The start of the end of his life, and he'd spend these days waking up, fucking waking up to good morning texts from a beautiful perfect boy who deserved everything else in the world, but this. A boy who lay in his bed, alone, but content, naive, but hopeful, clueless, but trying, and so fucking wonderful and beautiful all at once.

And perhaps what was good for him was to stay awake, but he couldn't chance that now; he'd gotten himself too caught up in the matter of Frank Iero and his voice and his smile and how he never made him speak, or do anything.

Because Gerard had wanted to kiss him.

Gerard just hadn't been happy about the fact that he'd wanted to, and still wanted to, even now, as he sat on his bed at ten in the morning, not having moved for two and half hours since he'd woke, because this was the weird dissociative state he lived in right now, where he kept drifting out of his own head and he could feel his mind wasting away around him.

And there was something so fucking _wonderful_ about it all.

But something he hated too, _despised_.

Because this was it - losing him, falling into a hole, a hole called love, and deep emotional connection, and question marks everywhere, and good morning texts... that fucking good morning text - just a few characters but enough to change the whole world.

It was all just little ripples on the ocean that was life, and Gerard could feel it now, just slightly, as he stood in the shallows, that there was a big tidal wave coming, and he just didn't know if it was going to pull him in and drown him or have him running out fearing for his life and clinging to everything he'd known, yet.

There was uncertainty, and he _hated_ that.

This odd lack of control over his own mind, and over his emotions, to some extent, that rendered Gerard feeling like the awkward guest sat on the end of the sofa at his own home, all awkward stares, _uncomfortable_.

Uncomfortable with himself and what might become of him.

He hadn't taken his cellphone out of his hands for those hours, and it was indeed still clutched in his palms when Kat finally opened his bedroom door: knowing Gerard well, knowing his patterns and habits, and making sense of him like he was a puzzle to be solved and not a person - because Gerard woke up early, not as early as Kat, but usually before nine.

"Are you alright?" Kat closed Gerard's bedroom door behind them: sensing the tone of the conversation immediately, or perhaps dictating the tone, not that Gerard felt dictated, not that Gerard felt in control either... not that Gerard felt anything at all.

Gerard made an odd kind of shrugging gesture, looking down at the cellphone and sighing before placing it to the side, brushing it to the back of his mind and trying not to trip over himself and he went to far much effort to push it out of his thoughts.

"I think maybe that's a no." Kat let out a sigh, hating seeing Gerard like this, but finding the patience, and recognising his need for company as they sat down on his bed beside him. "Is that an okay assumption to make?"

Gerard shrugged again, before glancing at Kat and then grabbing his notebook from the bedside table, scribbling: _'you can assume whatever you want'_ in blue biro. The same blue biro scrawl that meant nothing to Kat in that moment, but in time, in a matter of days, might mean the whole world, the end of it perhaps, and for that, Gerard was sorry, but not sorry enough to do anything about it, not sorry enough to change his mind.

"So I'd assume, then," Kat began, their gaze focused on the way Gerard's handwriting seemed to curl in on itself, making it hard to decipher, but so beautiful, and naturally intriguing that it made it worthwhile - a lot like Gerard himself. "I'd assume... I'd assume that you're stuck in your head, your thoughts are drowning you out, and you're somewhat lost in them, and you're _scared_ , on some degree, you're scared."

Gerard nodded, meeting Kat's gaze, letting them understand, if only just this little part of him.

"And I assume you want me to leave, to let you be scared, but you can assume that I'm not going to do that." Kat sighed a little, "you don't like me asking questions, I think maybe I should respect that. Maybe that's why you like Frank so much, he never asks why, he just listens."

Gerard nodded.

"Maybe I should stop being jealous. Maybe I should start being happy that you've found someone you love, someone who loves you, someone who makes this all worthwhile. Maybe I should realise that I'd rather see you happy with Frank than sad and sat alone with me."

"Maybe." Gerard's voice cracked as he spoke, and neither of them had been expecting it. "Maybe Frank doesn't make me happy, though. I just feel shit and guilty, and... and like I can never apologise enough."

"Apologise for what?"

"Who I am and the way I think, and the consequences of that."

-

Kat sat in silence for perhaps too long: simply unsure as to how they might respond to such a thing, such a thing which _hurt_ to hear come from their brother's mouth, but something that _had_ and there was simply no avoiding that.

"You should never have to apologise for who you are." Kat told him simply, biting their lip a little as they felt an odd wave of anxiety flush over them, because they were younger, and yet day in day out they found themself forced to be the older sibling, to look after Gerard, not that they minded, but they wished it didn't have to be like this sometimes.

"Not who I am then," Gerard shrugged a little, "but what kind of thoughts there are up in my head. I do things I shouldn't do. I think things I shouldn't think, and I make very little attempt to stop myself."

"And who ever said you shouldn't think or do these things?" Kat knew asking him directly as to the exact nature of these things wouldn't provide any kind of result, and therefore went for an alternative route.

"Everyone. Adults, parents, teachers, _God_ , and what a sham it all is, because no amount of fucking bullshit and covering children's eyes from the world is going to prevent certain thoughts." Gerard let out a sigh, leaning back against his bedroom wall and considering if he'd told Kat too much, and then if quantity was even relevant in the short time he had left _alive_.

"Then think those things, and _do_ those things if they're what you want to do." Naive advice was indeed bad advice, but Kat was trying, and Kat didn't know, Kat didn't have the slightest clue that their brother was talking about killing himself, and they'd never know, but perhaps in around two weeks time, they might piece things together and figure it all out.

Kat had a whole seventeen years to piece together and analyse, yet Frank would only have a month, and still Gerard found himself so much more fixated upon Frank, but it had been like that since the very moment he'd met him, and something internally had indeed changed.

"I don't know if they are." Gerard's words felt poisonous, foreign on his tongue, and his insides twisted at the notion. "Maybe they shouldn't be, maybe they are. It's a mess. My head's a mess."

"Talking to people about it would honestly help, Gerard- I _know_ you don't like it, but it's the truth and I can't change that." Kat sighed, moving closer to their brother, "is it okay if I touch you?"

Gerard paused for a moment, before forcing himself into a slow nod and trying not to look too uncomfortable as Kat placed their arm around him.

"We are talking." Gerard said after a minute or so: his voice quiet, soft, and barely audible.

"We are." Kat nodded, picking at his shirt, "but not properly. Conversation isn't always meaningful, is it?"

"And what would make it meaningful?" Gerard found himself daring to ask.

"You tell me." Kat paused, meeting their brother's gaze, "what would make it meaningful to you, Gerard? You tell me."

Gerard fell back into silence as he made an awkward shrugging motion.

"You don't know." Kat sighed a little, pausing for a moment, and letting his gaze wander across Gerard's room, and focus upon polaroid upon polaroid stuck to his wall, and how there was beauty in order and precision, yet a beauty of the same meaning in chaos and a mess of a head; he didn't think Gerard really saw things that way.

"I don't know." Gerard sat between sighs: his voice still far more quiet than necessary.

"Can I ask you some questions then? You don't have to answer." Kat proposed: the situation feeling all too formal, but he could sense how fragile Gerard was in that moment, and he daren't break him anymore.

"Okay." Gerard leaned into Kat's side: the movement awkward, and something Kat assumed to be uncomfortable, but Gerard seemed in no hurry to move, and Kat knew not to pressure him about such a thing.

"What are you so scared of?" Kat spent a good minutes in thought before speaking: treading even more carefully than usual. "Honestly, what is the main fear at the back of your mind. I'll tell you mine..." They paused for a second, "I'm scared of rejection, of people hating me. And it sounds like a load of bullshit because I act like I don't give a fuck a lot, but I do. That's the thing about this one core fear: it drives and influences everything about you, and you lie, you lie to protect it and fuck yourself over in doing so, and those are your flaws, created as fear fucks you up and twists you into a knot."

Gerard sat there, nodding slightly. "But dad always rejected you and you never-"

"There's this thing called storming out the house seeming angry and as if you're going to smoke and party and scream fuck the world that night, but actually, secretly running away to your secret not quite boyfriend's house and hiding and crying on the way there, and then crying in his arms, but still not telling him what's wrong, because you're scared so much that you worry what he might think of you, even if he said he loves you." Kat let out a sigh, "there's something about that."

"I guess there is." Gerard let out an awkward kind of choked breath as he began to consider his sibling in a different light than before, because everything had always been about himself and never about Kat, who was perhaps just as fucked up as he was, but perhaps just better at handling it.

"And so..." Kat trailed off, "do you know? Know what you're scared of?" Kat asked, seeming to fade away in the minutes of silence that followed, until Gerard finally came to a realisation and one that seemed to cut the world in two.

"I'm scared of dying." Gerard paused: the words heavy on his tongue and in his chest, right where his heart lay. "I'm scared of the suddenness of it all - the lack of control. Losing yourself, losing everything in a second without your consent."

And perhaps that was precisely why he felt such an imperative need to control it, but still, he didn't really know at all.

-


	23. Tuesday, October 23rd

This was a world in which alone was devoid of meaning.

And meaning itself held very little worth, as lines frayed and ink bled and words spewed from lips when they shouldn't.

This was the epitome of aftermath: the stand still, held breath, prolonged eye contact, eyes watering in the need to blink. One moment of baited breath and crossed fingers as the world fell apart.

This was a world in which together was devoid of meaning.

As hearts grew and changed and attraction was momentarily and so permanent at the same time: like ink bleeding and paper tearing away as you scribbled over everything, until there was nothing left, besides inky finger tips, and regret, and a desk.

A seaside view, also, for what it was worth.

Which was indeed so much and so little.

A view he'd see for only eight days now.

And yet he made no particular effort to appreciate it, as he sat at his desk: inky fingers - dark blue, and the remains of paper - several mistakes, forged in solitude in and company all at once, as thoughts danced around his head like people, dancing to a tune he couldn't recognise, one they sang along to, laughed along to - one which dictated the room, and one which outcast him instantly.

Gerard was indeed the outcast in his own mind: forced back against the wall with a cup in his hand: wide eyes as people danced, and the world spun in and out of focus: a scene he soon found himself able to recognise as his aunt's wedding, where he'd found himself outcast and alone, trembling at age fourteen.

A room he hadn't belonged in, and a room that was still on his mind at age seventeen for a reason unbeknownst to him. A reason he didn't particularly care to ponder, because all he could think of then was that the food at his aunt's wedding had been shit, and that Kat had fallen over when playing with the other kids, having been twelve at the time, and cut their knee open and their mother had acted like it was the end of the fucking world.

In that moment, as everyone flocked to a bloody knee and an unfussed twelve year old: eager to just get up again, Gerard had watched his aunt down half a bottle of vodka and smooth down her wedding dress as she made it out of one of the rooms off to the side of the venue. A few minutes later, his other uncle, the one she was _not_ getting married to, stumbled out of the room after her.

And the two had gotten married.

And the next year, he attended his other uncle's wedding, and his aunt had just _looked_ at that man as he said his vows and married another woman, because thirteen was too old to fall over and cut your knee and cause a distraction, and the spare rooms were in use.

The food was better at that wedding, though.

Gerard did wonder what had gone on between them.

And Gerard did wonder why he wondered, because he only saw his extended family at funerals and weddings, and he wouldn't be seeing them again.

He glanced down at his desk, grabbing a new sheet of paper, and wondering whether he should ask Kat to watch the way his other uncle and his aunt looked at each other at his funeral, or if that would be inappropriate, or if they'd even have much of an opportunity of anything anymore, because sixteen was far too old to fall and cause a fuss, and his mother didn't even care that much anymore.

It was okay, though, because what she had done was care too much, this was perhaps the middle ground, and yet something Kat refused to appreciate. Gerard knew they would miss it though, once it was gone, once he was gone, because he knew his mother wouldn't keep it together after he killed himself, and still, this didn't change anything at all.

He wore the title of selfish like a crown in his final days, as he held onto Frank's heart, as they were together, but he was so alone, and in eight days, Frank would be too. And that'd be one hell of a birthday party, fuck, one hell of a birthday present - a bittersweet twist to it all.

And Gerard wouldn't apologise, because he wasn't sure if he was sorry anymore.

He wondered if he should have said something at his aunt's wedding. He wondered if that would have changed the world. He wondered what would have happened if Kat hadn't fallen, if his mother hadn't cared quite so much, and if he'd been able to recognise a single song on the wedding playlist.

He realised what he was condemning himself to: a life of retrospect, over analytic reflection, a self inflicted, self critical hell: obsessing over what he couldn't change, and what he'd witnessed, and the life he'd lived before he'd cope up with the idea of _dying_.

Because all Gerard had wanted to do before he'd died was _live_ , but it seemed as if he'd never really accomplished such a thing, because it was evident in his over analytic personality that reckless was the last thing he could ever be, and that impulse was unheard of, and that kissing Frank had been all of that - it was wrong, hurting, selfish, and yet, _living_.

And Gerard hated it, because Frank made him wish he had longer.

And Gerard began to hate Frank, because he should have never put him in such a position, even if of course, unintentional.

And Gerard began to hate himself, because he should have never hated Frank.

And Gerard began to hate the world for getting him into such a mess.

And all he had to say for himself was seventeen years of mistakes and standing in the corner of rooms on his own, and dark blue ink smudged against pale skin, and what was something like the seventeenth draft, and indeed a failed one at that.

Because there was no easy way to go about this.

Because there was no way make himself sound sorry, there was no sympathy, there was no regret, he was in anything but the right mind to write these letters, these concocted apologies, but he was in anything but the right mind to begin with.

Perhaps the last thing he owed the world was honesty.

Or perhaps the _last_ thing he owed the world was honesty.

-

It was a certainty.

He didn't think he was in love with them anymore.

He was certain of it.

As they stood there.

Cliff top.

Hand in hand.

Rainstorm: gentle, cooling.

And yet so alone.

The world was indeed vast and terrifying, but in that little patch of existence they were okay: hand in hand, in love and okay, and _breathing_ , alive, laughing, smiling, talking: just exchanging words, exchanging breaths as hearts beat in time and lips met and the world began to spin, and Kat wondered if Pete was going to send them falling off that cliff, because this was all making them dizzy.

The good kind of dizzy.

A kind of dizzy that Kat found themself unaccustomed to, but a dizzy they welcomed: a dizzy they welcomed with Pete, because this time it really felt like it _would_ work out, and they still be in hand in perhaps a years time, but of course, what Kat didn't know was that although they and Pete may be still together, they wouldn't have a brother anymore come next October.

Unbeknownst to Kat, they'd be attending a funeral next week. They didn't even own anything vaguely smart and/or formal. They'd burn the one suit their parents had bought them on a bonfire that summer in some sort of stance against gender norms, and it really had made their world. But of course, a suit meant very little in the scheme of things.

They were in love, and they were about to lose the most important person in the whole fucking world, and they were so clueless, so oblivious, and so _happy_ , because finally, things were all about to work out, until suddenly things were destined to topple over into the world's worst kind of chaos: something that'd surely dismantle everything completely.

And Kat didn't know, but they should treasure these days, this happiness, this love: this cliff top, and the rain, because it all be worth so little in a week or so's time. Everything would mean so little and yet so much, and they weren't ready, and they could never be ready, because no one was supposed to die at age seventeen.

Because he'd never even reach adulthood. He'd die young. He'd die as a child. He'd die as a virgin. He'd die in high school. He'd die before he even knew what living was.

And Kat would come to realise that all in time, and hate it, and wish and look back, that in that moment they were not kissing their boyfriend on a cliff top but back home and in their brother's room, noticing the suicide notes and the pills, and the noose in his cupboard, and the hell he'd made out of the world around him, and they'd wish that they could have just _known_ , let alone tried to put it right.

Because he shouldn't go out that way.

But he would.

Gerard was determined. Gerard was deadset, and stubborn, like Kat, but quietly so, unlike them.

Gerard was stubborn with himself, and Kat was stubborn with the world. Bitter too.

Kat was simply a concoction of bad character traits, and still, they were loved, and still they were happy.

And Gerard who'd never done anything to hurt anyone since a few days ago, was anything but happy.

And there was something just not right about that.

And perhaps Kat might have picked up upon it if they weren't so infatuated with Pete, if they were at home right now, and if they just walked into their brother's room, because that's all it would have taken, and yet that was too much.

Kat felt odd pang of guilt in their chest: unable to source or distinguish it, simply looking across at Pete as the two sat in the rain, watching the water come over the horizon and the sky fade out into a darker shade of blue.

"Something's wrong." They said, unable to stop themself before the words slipped out.

Pete glanced at them: a little confused. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know." Kat pulled their gaze up to meet Pete's, "I don't know, but I just feel it," they moved their hand up to their chest, "right here."

"You have any idea what it could be?" Pete offered after a moment - unsure what to say in all honesty.

Kat shrugged, "there's a million things it could be. I don't know. I just... it feels... strong. It feels real. It feels real."

"I don't know what to say, I'm sorry. I don't know what to do." Pete told them, pulling an arm around them.

"I'm not expecting you to." Kat let out a sigh, "I just... I don't know.... I don't know. Maybe it's nothing. It's probably nothing. Your head just fucks up like that sometimes, you feel things for no reason, or something like that?"

Pete shrugged, "I guess. I don't know, honestly, I'm hardly a psychologist."

"Neither am I." Kat told him, "I'll say it's nothing unless there's anything that tells me otherwise."

"Yeah, I mean, sometimes we just get paranoid about nothing," Pete continued, "like... people who love you for you reacting badly to your sexuality," he laughed a little, "that was me being paranoid. Also Lindsey being an amazing friend."

Kat nodded, "yeah, she's nice." They paused. "I like her. I really think I do."

"That's good," Pete smiled, "I was scared you'd hate my friends, honestly. I don't know why. Perhaps me being paranoid again, but... I don't know. I care a lot about what you think, and then a lot about what they think and then things going well with Lindsey is the best thing that could have happened."

"If all your friends are like her then it'll be fine."

"They're similar but not... I don't know, Ray's less strong willed, he's more chill, but he's really nice, really caring. He's got this massive afro and the only time he'll ever yell at anyone is if you touch it." Kat laughed a little at that, liking the sound of him already. "And then there's Frank, and Frank's a bit... I don't know, he's kind of I don't know, secretive, and he always drinks too much at parties and never pays attention in school, but he's a really nice and funny guy. Genuinely lovely."

Kat nodded, "I know someone called Frank too. Genuine and lovely. But I'm jealous of him, and it's horrible, and all because Gerard likes him more than he likes me."

Pete shook his head, "I'm sure that isn't true. Gerard loves you. He'd never pick this guy over you. He'd never leave you alone. _Ever_."

"You think?"

"I'm certain."

-

And Gerard swore that with the knock upon his window, he practically had a heart attack.

With pen not yet to paper, and words circling above his head like vultures - never quite reaching him and serving a sole purpose of taunting him, as they refused to be placed into sentences upon paper: a last testament to the hell he'd served upon planet earth, in a seaside town, with his head in the clouds, and every late night, and every fight he'd over heard, and everything he'd always known but never told anyone.

His eyes widened a little as he looked up and caught sight of Frank: wide smile and bright eyes - so much love and so much joy and all soon to be shattered, and Gerard knew he found himself somewhat infatuated with the kind of power that held, to finally feel powerful in a life full of weakness and meaning nothing to no one.

And then there was Frank who changed that all completely. And then there was Frank climbing through his bedroom window at ten at night as Gerard hastily throw lackluster letter writing attempts into his draw and shut it, throwing his pen to the side and getting up from desk, and hoping Frank wouldn't find the need to fixate upon it and just what he'd been doing there.

But thankfully, the thing with Frank was that he didn't ask the kind of questions he knew Gerard wouldn't answer, and more importantly, wouldn't _want_ to answer, and perhaps that was why Gerard let him climb into his bedroom through the window at ten pm.

Frank seemed to break every kind of rule and promise Gerard had made for and with himself, and Gerard didn't seem to mind that as much as he thought he would, because although Frank was a beautiful person, he was going to ruin him in just over a week, but then, finally, it'd be okay for him.

And he reckoned, that in time, with contemplation, and a sufficient explanation in blue ink upon paper, Frank might come to appreciate or at least pretend to understand why Gerard had to do what he did, because if there was anyone willing to make sense of him, it was Frank.

"Your window is a bitch to get through." Frank commented, stumbling a little as he attempted to close it behind him.

Gerard let out an awkward kind of breath that somehow represented his amusement and masqueraded as a half hearted kind of laugh... _thing_. There just weren't any words - any words in his head at all.

"It's worth it though," Frank smiled a little, making his way over to Gerard, "can I..." He stopped himself, meeting his eyes, "kiss you or something?"

Gerard bit his lip.

The answer was no.

The look in Frank's eyes asked yes of him.

And Gerard didn't want to hurt him.

"Or just a hug?" Frank noticed, because Frank could read him when it came to the small things, but when it came to his set in stone plans to kill himself at the end of the month, Frank was, of course, clueless.

"Yeah..." Gerard blushed, brushing his hair away from his face. "Just a hug."

Frank nodded, not understanding entirely but appreciating Gerard and his right to say no, and his right to not be uncomfortable. "That's okay." He pulled Gerard into his arms, running his hands up his back into the taller boy's hair. "You okay today?" He asked, still holding Gerard tight.

"Y-yeah." Gerard told him, like he hadn't just been writing his suicide notes before he came in.

"Good, I don't like it when you're upset," Frank told him, pulling away and going to sit down on his bed, Gerard watching as his eyes travelled across the room, and focusing on the polaroids upon the wall and the muted tones in the furniture, and not on the cupboards and drawers in which his suicide notes, pills, and things were hidden away in, because it was all, and had always been right under everyone's noses, and he _knew_ that Frank would hate that more than anything come November, but this was him living with that guilt, because it wasn't like he had to live with it particularly long anyway.

"And how are you?" Gerard found himself asking, finally pulling his gaze away from the cupboards and sitting down beside Frank on the bed: his bed, his room, his boyfriend, and yet all things that meant so very little to him.

"I might come out to my mum." Frank told him, because despite being an emotion, it was really everything on his mind, "I think it'll be okay. I don't think hiding it all's good for me. And it's not always easy to do what's 'good' for you', but I think I have to try. And I don't know... so... like... this... of course you can say no, but like... do you want to meet my mum?"

Gerard was frozen for a moment, eyes widened, and focused upon Frank, and the last few days he had left of his life, and how that was hardly enough time for anything to really go wrong. "S-sure."

-


	24. Wednesday, October 24th

To say that Gerard was nervous would be an understatement.

A severe one at that.

Gerard was the epitome of nerves, the messiah of overthinking, the emperor of self-destruction, and indeed, the architect of his own demise.

That was how it would always be, his last few days upon Earth were no exception.

Certainly no exception.

It was Wednesday. Wednesday the twenty forth of October.

All there was left of October was a week.

All there was left of him was just that: a week.

October and him were connected: the autumn, the cold, the nothingness, the transition from warm to cold, the way you lose yourself in the world, in thoughts, in work, in complications, in boys with smiles who care, and on the mission to destroy yourself.

Gerard would say easily that he was worlds away from the person he was on October first, and that there was very little he could do about that; the certainty of it all had changed him - he'd put his trust, he'd held hands with his suicide date, because it brought him great calm and reassurance in the mere existence of its overbearing presence.

But Gerard knew like he knew anything that he felt secure, he felt safe, he felt at home in its shadow. The sun shone too bright as he stood out alone: his skin was pale, thin-skinned, lightheaded, heavy hearted kind of boy with too many words and a desire for silence, and the ability to rot away in his own head in solace for hours upon end.

He felt safe, he felt ready, he felt worlds away from Friday the thirteenth of October and waking up in a bath tub and regretting it all. This wasn't like that at all. That had been indeed a mistake: a stumble before he reached the cliff face: nothing compared to the fall, and when greeting the depths at the bottom, he'd greet them with an embrace.

Because perhaps the one thing Gerard wasn't scared of, was this - the end of it all, as he'd planned, because he'd had a lifetime of overthinking and planning and drafting, and he fucking knew it all down to every detail - his death as the palm of his own hand, and his mind drifting away from him on the tide, because here he was, the bathtub, letting his skin dissolve around him: water cold, once warm perhaps two hours ago.

Five in the morning.

And he'd lost his head at four.

He was getting worse, but he wasn't concerned.

It was every night now, he'd find himself sat somewhere at two, and then perhaps blinking and seeing that it was four. Several hours lost like that with no recollection, but not to sleep, because he would be sat upright, still, unmoving, conscious, and even tired, as they were hours simply lost to himself: hours for the ravenous kind of dark thoughts in the deepest corners of his mind to dart out and devour.

It left him a little distrusting of himself, but it wasn't something he fussed over, as he was sure that he'd never once done anything besides sit in silence and thought in the hours he'd missed, and anyway, it wasn't like he could ruin his life much more than a little more than he already had in a week.

Because that was all he had left now - in a week, everything was going to be alright, and Frank would be smiling - it would be his birthday and Gerard would be perhaps sat with him in his bedroom like he had been before, and Gerard would be silent: thinking of Frank and the beauty in him, and the water and drowning and the tenfold beauty in that.

And he'd never get to apologise properly, as words refused to form correctly and ink smudged and his thought ran like a deer: startled, wide eyed and nimble, never allowing him to quite catch up, to quite understand, as he would stumble after it in hope of understanding, in hope of fitting it all together, but never doing so.

And Gerard knew: destined to follow his thought forever, even as it led him into the water, as it led him to the bottom of a lake, as it led him to his own death. He was prepared for that, or perhaps as prepared as he could be, because perhaps these letters just weren't going to get written, and perhaps Frank and his family would have to piece things together for themselves.

And perhaps Gerard didn't find as much of a problem with that as he should.

Because he indeed owe them an explanation, if he was going to go and fucking drown himself.

However, he didn't really owe anyone anything at all.

Frank had made quite the point about selfishness: a point Gerard had allowed himself to be indulged in, because he lived with less care for himself and his actions now - perhaps simply sitting back and choosing to watch as the last seven days played out before him.

He got out of the bathtub at five thirty four.

The air was cold and he regretted doing so instantly, but regret was muffled in his chest as his heartbeat increased, finding himself locking eyes with a certain creature buzzing at the window: a moth, and by no means the _same_ moth, but to Gerard it felt the same.

It was alive.

And he was too, if only for now.

But it fluttered, and it lived, and the night closed in around it, but still it travelled in search of light.

Gerard just let things overcome him; Gerard just let himself ruin his life.

As he was indeed, his own worst enemy: forever the architect of his own demise.

It was nearly six in the morning before Gerard made it out of the bathroom, and into his bedroom again, finding himself oddly unfamiliar with the slight positioning of objects in his room, as if he had lost more time to his own head than he was entirely comfortable with.

However, before he could excessively ponder what had occurred in his own head whilst he'd been absent from it, his attention was consumed rather rapidly by a scrap of paper left upon his desk: written up in his own handwriting, but not something he recalled constructing: a letter - that was immediately evident, but Gerard only understood once he read the first two words:

_'Dear Frank_ ,'

And that was enough to have his heart sink, because here lay paragraphs and paragraphs of his own handwriting, his own words, but ones he couldn't recall speaking, and like that, his head felt as if falling from his shoulders, and his knees buckled as he began to break down and cry.

It was enough to want to leave your own body.

But too much for your own head to kick you out.

_'Dear Frank,_

_You're reading this because I have killed myself, and there is not a single universe in which I can imagine that you never read this, and for that don't count yourself unlucky, because this was inevitable. This was decided when you first met me, this was decided long before that. The thing is, you just happened, and you had me running through hell trying to keep everything in order, because there is a specific order to this all, and I do have to die, and it does have to be now: November 1st, because that's how I need it to be, because I just can't live with myself and there's respite in knowing that the end is soon and this is written on the 23rd, this is written as I let myself spiral out of control, as there's nothing much anything in the world can do to change what I am indeed going to do. You are not exempt from that. You are not exempt from the world. You are special but never exempt._

_It isn't your fault. And I know you will overthink and cry and fault yourself, because you're human and trust me, I've thought this all through one million times and as much as I try, I simply can't imagine a world in which there's a November for me, a December, a Christmas, a new year. This is the end. I have made it the end, and I'm so sorry that it fell on the day after your birthday. This is the worst birthday present ever. I'm sorry. I love you._

_But not perhaps how I should. I don't know what I feel for you. I like you, but I am much more drawn to the idea of ending it all at the bottom of a lake, and I simply don't know whether that's just this crippling weight of self-hatred twisting and contorting my emotions and breaking everything down into little pieces that don't make much sense anymore, or me as a person. Maybe I'm broken. I think I'm very broken._

_But I don't know what to do about it all, and I decided long ago that it was indeed easier to do nothing than to figure this all out, to go through a different kind of hell to fix the problems in my head, because I'm fucking terrified that there's no fixing this, that this is just how I am, that this is normal, that this is what everyone else copes with perfectly fine, and that I am just overreacting because I always overreact to everything: I am thin skinned and even that skin is shedding and faster than ever before. I'm wasting away, but it's okay because I can discard all worry and troubles in the light of November 1st and the week between now and then._

_But this isn't how people are supposed to feel, of course, because I don't think everyone goes around with an uncontrollable desire to drown themself - I've figured that out at least. And this is me: suicidal, and it feels weird saying it, putting it out like that, because it was never once fine and then just ready to kill myself the next day - it's not an on and off switch, it was gradual, it was years and years of slowly getting worse and tumbling further into this hole of despair, and I don't know at what point I concluded that there was no getting out of it. I don't know at what point of that descent into self-destruction that you become suicidal, or become depressed, or become a danger to yourself, because as living breathing human beings we are all dangers to ourselves._

_You're a danger to yourself now: upset, vulnerable, and I'm sorry, because I love you. Stay safe, be okay. Please be okay. You will, though, because I'm barely a snapshot of a person: you knew me for a month. One month of your life. It may be the most meaningful month of your life or it may be the least, but what it is, is a month, and you never really knew me at all, and I think it's better that way, because the longer I stay, the more it's going to hurt in the end, because this is inevitable, I'm writing this down and it's inevitable._

_It's all real. I love you, and that's real. The whole world is real and I forget that all the time. I am perhaps not as real as you are, though: I'm fading away, metaphorically if not physically, and you have noticed, you just don't want it to be real, so you're subconsciously ignoring it, and please do not feel guilty for such a thing because there was never anything you could do to stop me in the first place._

_People seem to think that everything's fine when you fall in love. That the love is the cure to it all, that you're fucked up and then you have this angel lifting you out of hell and then you're okay, but I am not what people think, I am not a tear-jerking bestseller, I am nothing but reality: flawed and ending. We are all going to die. I am just going to die a little sooner._

_I never could stomach the idea of not being in control of your own death. I feel it is a basic human right to have control over how you live and in turn how you die. I find it imperative to control it, to plan it, and doing so extensively has brought me an odd kind of peace, and I hope that maybe in time you'd come to appreciate that. I am not happy. I am not a happy person, but you do make me smile._

_I could never just fade away age eighty like a vegetable in an old people's home - that was always known, from about age seven - not as in I'm going to kill myself, but that I would dictate my own death. And then there was this odd notion at the back of my mind that I'd never have to worry about life as an adult and that I could dismiss that all simply because I would never live to be eighteen, and I guess that notion was right._

_I don't want a fancy funeral. I don't want much to be made of me at all. And I want you to stop crying as soon as you can._

_I don't know what comes after life and honestly, I don't care, but maybe in some form or another, I'll see you again. I think I'd like that._

_Gerard.'_

_-_

Gerard had felt a little dizzy for the hours that followed, and there was certainly nothing wrong with that. It wasn't so much that he was physically dizzy, but more so emotionally - more than he was usually: an emotional dizziness linked specifically to that one letter in his handwriting that for the life of him he couldn't recall writing.

That one fucking letter that summed the whole world up like it was nothing.

Gerard didn't know quite how to feel having come to the realisation that his subconscious mind was miles more competent than his conscious one. He wondered if perhaps it was just another sign that this world was better off without him, and that this was indeed proof that his subconscious mind definitely seemed to agree.

People would cry.

That's what Gerard hated: hated with everything he had as he sat at the kitchen table in the sunlight, after yet another sleepless night: making an effort to ignore the sound of footsteps down the hallway - Kat, obviously, because who else woke up like this when they didn't have to (his mother had a day off work today).

Gerard tried not to think about how Kat would inevitably have to react to this all.

_Have_ _to_.

Because there was absolutely no questioning this all, not after this; he reckoned that letter to Frank had solidified things a little, because there it was in writing, his writing, with every word necessary, and there was no point in changing his mind now - not that he'd ever really intended to, of course.

"You didn't sleep last night, did you?" Kat asked, directly their words at Gerard as they made their way over to the kettle and began to make themself a cup of coffee.

"I... I..." Gerard stumbled out, finding that perhaps he'd half forgotten how to speak in the space of the past few hours: spent alone in silence.

"When you sleep you don't want to get out of bed, and when you haven't you usually end up sat here for some reason, like you don't want to even go to your bed and try to sleep." Kat continued, turning to face their brother, and looking him straight in the eye. "Also you look fucking tired as hell: you _need_ some sleep, Gerard."

Gerard bit his lip, looking down, "I'm gonna be fine. Everything's gonna be fine."

Kat raised their eyebrows at that, "that's new? Why's this?" They found this odd sort of hope in Gerard's words, when really, it was indeed the opposite.

"Sorted somethings out last night, and did some thinking, and I... I'm pretty sure I sat in the bath for two hours..." Gerard trailed off, forcing a little giggle, "but I... I... yeah... it's going to be okay. I know that."

"I'm glad." Kat's face lit up into a smile, and they stirred their coffee before taking it over to the table where Gerard was sat and sitting down opposite him. "Do you want a coffee by the way, because I'll-"

"I'm okay." Gerard ran a hand back through his hair and watched as Kat took a sip of their coffee. "Everything's going to be okay." He repeated, knowing that Kat was interpreting this all in practically the opposite way to which he was saying it, but still, he didn't have enough days left of his life to give a fuck.

Kat gave him another smile, "this is really good, Gerard, I was starting to get worried about you, but I don't know... I feel like it's Frank isn't it- of course, correct me, don't let me make assumptions about you."

Gerard bit his lip a little, "you should never have to be worried about me. I'm fine, it's all going to be fine."

"I can't help being worried about you, dude, I'm your sibling - it's my _job_." Kat laughed at that, "sure I'm younger, but I'm the fucking best protective younger sibling, aren't I?"

Gerard nodded, smiling a little, and generally trying not to cry. "Y-yeah... fuck, hell yeah you are. You're the best sibling anyone could ever ask for. Love you, Kat."

Kat nodded, "love you too, Gerard. You're the best older brother in the world. My favourite older brother, which would probably mean more if you weren't the only one, but still, I'd be saying that regardless."

Gerard nodded and tried not to think about how soon enough Kat wouldn't have an older brother at all. About his mother wouldn't have a son. About how Frank wouldn't have a boyfriend. About how he was going to be this person shaped hole in these people's lives.

"I love you. It's gonna be okay." Gerard repeated aloud, perhaps more so for his own benefit than Kat's, but it wasn't something Kat really picked up upon.

"I know it is," Kat hit him with a grin, "knew it was always gonna be. You're a strong person, Gerard, you really are."

And Gerard wanted to argue forever against that, but he didn't have forever. He had a week. And he wasn't going to spend that week detesting his sibling.

-


	25. Thursday, October 25th

When Gerard looked at him, every thought was speculation and a lacklustre attempt in predicting how he might react.

He was distracted, to say the least, and he hadn't listened to a single word Frank had said for the last ten minutes, but you had to admit that it was a little difficult just to interact with someone you'd already written a suicide letter addressed to like nothing was wrong.

It wasn't that Gerard wasn't good pretending that nothing was wrong, because if he excelled at anything at all, it was clearly that, but he just couldn't focus upon Frank and not imagine the look upon his face when he'd read that letter, when he'd hear the news, when he'd see the body, when he'd attend the funeral, and first of all when he'd wake up alone on November 1st and go through a house full of people looking for Gerard.

But Gerard wouldn't be there, and Frank would look in the garden and Gerard still wouldn't be there, and Frank would look at the beach, and Gerard still wouldn't be there, and he eventually go to Gerard's house and Gerard wouldn't be there either but what would be was a note on his bed, and Gerard was stricken with Frank's face as he read it over and added everything up and cursed himself for everything he'd missed and began to break down as it really sank in, and that Gerard was gone and there was no changing it now.

And that hurt, that hurt for Gerard who knew this had to be done, and he hurt now because he wouldn't be able to hurt later when Frank was hurting, and he reckoned that he owed Frank that at least, to hurt for him, as a gesture of kindness, of respect - all there was left to do to make this better. All that was left that he could do.

And Frank was so beautiful and he never wished a frown upon that face, and he never wished tears upon those cheeks, not even in his worst nightmares, not even in his wildest dreams, but somethings were just out of Gerard's control, and he had indeed already concluded that this was his final act and it would be for himself and not for the benefit of anyone else.

The last glimpse of selfishness before the lights when out and the tide went in, and the waves swept the world away, because the rain in the clouds became part of the waves, and the tide would one day rain back down again on his face - what goes around comes around, and nothing was ever the end.

Because the earth kept on spinning even as he ceased to breathe, and he could indeed only wish that his body would burn into beautiful ashes and that something could become of whatever remained, because it wasn't existing that Gerard had so many qualms with, it was just existing in this form, existing like this.

Because if he had be born as a bird or a flower or something he reckoned he'd never encounter such an urge to kill himself, now of course, that may just sound logical, calling upon the notion that neither a bird nor a flower really possessed the capacity for the want to kill themselves, but perhaps that was rather the point.

Or perhaps there was little point to anything at all, but what did that indeed matter in the six days he had left?

Gerard's heart seemed to start beating again as Frank reached for his hand a sudden wave of warmth flooded through his veins: a tender kind of love and care alongside his blood and that was what kick-started his heart: hammering in his chest, as the same mixture of love and blood rushed to his cheeks, marking them a less than subtle pink, and continuing to do so as Frank gave Gerard's hand a little squeeze.

The squeeze felt no way little or insignificant to Gerard, however, who felt it like a shockwave: a shockwave of feeling - every nerve in his body suddenly sparking and lighting up, and it was as if everything had been reset and switched on again, and suddenly Gerard was so much less floating away up inside his head like particles of dust: a premonition of the ashes he would become, but the seventeen year old boy called Gerard Arthur Way who stood on the beach close to his house, with Frank Anthony Iero, with his hand in his, and the waves just beside their feet, and a slight odd smell in the air, and a cold October chill about them, and a certain dampness in the air.

And it was only then that Gerard realised that it had been weeks since he'd found himself noticing any of those things. Weeks since he'd really felt like he was indeed inside his body and not disconnected, but tied down, or perhaps chained to it. And it was only moments later, as Gerard found himself focusing upon the sensation of breathing, and the feeling to the movement of his chest and the sensation of cold air against his throat, that he came to understand what had caused this all - what had switched everything on.

Frank's hand. Frank's hand in his.

And Frank stood there: oblivious, without a clue, still speaking - his voice so fucking beautiful but Gerard was far too overwhelmed to take even a single word he was saying.

And Frank remained oblivious, remained thinking that their hands held were just that, and there'd be a November 2nd for Gerard, and Gerard's stomach plummeted, and he then in turn realised he'd somewhat forgotten what that felt like.

He'd spent weeks in this odd kind of dissociated, wasted away state of mind where nothing had mattered, and then suddenly, he stood there, so very alive, and with a hand in his serving as warmth, and with cold air in his throat, and fuck, October was so very cold, and Gerard had been so very oblivious.

And he stood there, scared, scared of what was happening, because perhaps it was easier to just waste away, but he recalled the letter and he found himself hit by his inability in recalling the act of writing it, and the odd kind of fear that had struck in him.

And perhaps it was then that he realised that Frank certainly wasn't a fix it cure to all his problems, but that he most certainly was a help.

And that there was indeed an ever growing part of Gerard that yearned to just break down into tears and tell Frank the whole world, but he knew he couldn't do that; he had been so assured that six days meant nothing and that he couldn't change the course of actions in that time at all, but as he stood there with Frank, he stood there fearful, wide eyed, and alive, because of course, of course he could.

All it took were words.

All it took was to speak, to prevent himself from being buried in eternal silence.

And then Frank turned to him, looking Gerard in the eyes, "are you okay?" He asked: tone inquisitive, and Gerard wasn't sure he could get a single word out in that moment without losing control and breaking down into a flood of tears and just screaming every word of his suicide note right at Frank, right there on that beach as they stood there as the tide came in and seagulls circled overhead like vultures, like they could sense somehow that Gerard was dying.

Gerard held the whole world in that moment, Gerard held the world as he looked up at the seagulls and watched them part, as if his gaze damaged them to some degree. Gerard held the world as he glanced back to Frank and moved his feet slightly, feeling weight in his body, and every movement of his bones: a working, living skeleton. A creation of God or evolution, or perhaps both, or perhaps neither at all.

"Gerard, can you hear me? Are you okay?" Frank asked again, his concern increasing.

And Gerard bit his lip, because of course, he wasn't, fuck, the birds up in the sky knew he wasn't, the sand under his feet knew he wasn't, and so did Frank, Frank just didn't want to admit it to himself, because Frank was an optimist - a fucking optimist with a suicidal boyfriend.

A fucking optimist who imagined even the greyest and darkest of skies in a bright cerulean blue.

And Frank's vision of the world was perhaps even so beautiful fabricated that Gerard didn't even want to poke holes in it, let alone tear it all down, as he inevitably would as words tumbled from his lips, so instead, he met Frank Iero's eyes upon the beach, and squeezed his hand tight, as tight as he could, held back tears and nodded.

And Frank believed him.

Gerard was going to be sick.

Gerard felt physically nauseous, because here he was: a liar, hurting the person who mattered the most, and all of that, Frank fucking believed him like it was nothing at all.

And in that moment, Gerard couldn't quite distinguish as to quite whether he loathed or simply longed for such optimism.

But that moment passed, and he did indeed come to a conclusion.

-

The walk to Frank's house had been dragged out unintentionally, subconsciously, but between the both of them, but much more importantly, never once did they unlink hands through the entirety of the journey there.

And Gerard had agree that if there was something more to life: a certain something that he had been missing, it most certainly was held within the world he took in with his hand in Frank's, however, of course, the inevitable was that Frank would let go of his hand and the light would dim and the world would seem just so unappealing once more.

And Gerard wondered if that was what he needed, to hold onto Frank forever, to literally hold onto Frank for dear life, but that was impractical, and he couldn't physically tie Frank down to him like this, because what was the point in them both living but living a life devoid of meaning and whittled down to never leaving one another's side?

Gerard knew the better option was his death in order to give Frank a chance, because any which way he looked at this; he was the sinking ship and Frank was still on board.

That was the thing about anchors: not only did they grounded you, and kept safe; they also dragged you down to the depths of the ocean. That was the thing about everything: good without bad simply didn't occur.

And Frank let go of Gerard's hand to open his front door, and Gerard seemed to feel his heart plummet right through his chest and right down to the pit of his stomach as he did so.

It was pathetic, really - he was pathetic, really, and he wondered why anyone really cared about him at all.

Because, of course, Gerard didn't care about himself, Gerard cared only for a select few, but then again, still not enough not to break them in the worst way. In all honesty, there was a lack of real connection to the world around Gerard, and perhaps that was why it was so easy for him to drift away like a thousand tiny dust particles.

Gerard found himself tuning back into reality as Frank called out for his mother, reaching then again for Gerard's hand as they stood in the hallway and Frank took his jacket off, and Gerard did little but stand there paralysed: his stomach doing somersaults as he struggled to focus upon one fixed still point before him.

This was him being nervous.

This was caring.

This was something that mattered in the six days he had left alive.

This was Frank's hand in his and the feeling of the pounding of his heart in his chest.

This was him counting his breathing, and Frank telling him that his mum would love him, and Gerard being not so sure, because in all honesty, the notion of someone loving him was indeed foreign: the notion of Frank was something he found himself reluctant to believe in on a daily basis, but still, Frank was so very real and Gerard was so very sure of that. He was sure of something at least.

Kat loved him too, but Kat was his sibling and that was what they were supposed to do. The same went for his mother, even though his mother hadn't shown much in the way of love up until a point. And nothing went for his father anymore, who had made it rather clear now that he was indeed out of the picture, and Gerard found himself okay with that, because it wasn't like he'd spent the rest of his life upset that his father had walked out, because Gerard had so much more to do in the six days which remained.

And then Mrs Iero stood in the doorway to the kitchen: a smile upon her face, and then her eyes widening as they travelled down to meet Gerard and Frank's hands - something Gerard had almost stopped thinking about, but in retrospect he found himself in shock at such a notion, because how could he forget that - forget a single thing about the boy beside him, but in time, in six days’ time he'd forget it all as he became dust, physical dust and ashes, a corpse, and nothing.

He'd forget his whole mind.

He'd forget the whole world.

And most importantly, he'd forget the boy beside him.

The beautiful boy beside him who wore a smile in oblivion.

And Gerard suddenly found himself hit by the realisation of forgetting and in turn that nobody knew what it felt like to die. And suddenly Gerard found himself very scared as he stood with Frank's hand in his before Frank's mother who met them with an odd expression before her lips parted.

And Frank's mother looked so much like him. And Gerard wondered if this woman might attend his funeral. And Gerard suddenly regretted ever coming into acquaintance with her, because every person he came into contact with was just another person he was going to hurt.

And he really couldn't keep doing this.

His heart began to burn in his chest, and he let go of Frank's hand, and the whole world fizzled out slightly, and like that time seemed to speed up to normal speed, reverting from the slowed down haze he had found himself sealed within.

"So it's like this." Mrs Iero said, glancing briefly to Gerard, before speaking more directly to her son. "I saw this coming." She smiled a little.

Frank groaned, rolling his eyes a little, "come on, stop, don't be embarrassing, please dear god, don't be embarrassing."

She chuckled a little, before turning to Gerard, "so you're Gerard then? My son's boyfriend?"

Gerard inhaled sharply before nodding.

"No need to be shy." Mrs Iero told him, smiling, "you can call me Linda, by the way."

Gerard bit his lip, opening his mouth and struggling upon the notion of forcing words out. Frank noticed this and took the liberty of speaking for him.

"Sometimes he can't speak, please don't make him." Frank glanced up at his mother, "it's... it's not him being rude, it's him. He does it with me sometimes - I'm used to it, and there was this one time he only talked in French." Frank laughed a little.

Gerard cringed slightly, brushing his hair away from his face, "I..." he stumbled out, looking up at Mrs Iero, "I- I... it's- I'm sorry-"

"It's not your fault, dear, don't worry about it," she assured him with a warm smile: a smile akin to Frank's - a smile full of meaning.

And Gerard shut his mouth that time, because no matter what he said, he was indeed still nothing but sorry, because she cared for him - that was evident, even within a few minutes, and Gerard was so sorry for what she'd face in November, both for herself, and with her son.

And as always, Frank remained horrifically oblivious to the whole ordeal, continuing in conversation with his mother and leaving Gerard to feel like a spirit out of place in their home, because fuck, he didn't belong here at all - he didn't even belong in the world of the living - that was evident, and here he found himself required to make an effort and a good impression, and he felt as if Mrs Iero simply felt sorry for him, when really she should be feeling sorry for her son in regards to the inevitable that would tear him apart in only days now.

But she remained oblivious too: they all did, his own mother in particular, as she had told him the night before that she thought things were really working now, and that she had everything under control, and indeed she'd even gone as far as to promise him that everything was going to be okay, and Gerard, Gerard had just smiled and nodded and tried not to cry.

And tried not to think about how she'd cry at his funeral, because surely it was every mother's worst nightmare to see the coffin with the body of their child in placed six feet underground, but still, there was just nothing Gerard could do about that anymore.

He'd have to explain: to write one hell of a letter to her, and he would, because that was indeed all he  _could_  do right now, as there was no place for apology nor explanation, only the end and the embrace of it, as Gerard tried too hard not to think, because when he really started to, that was when he began to change his mind.

And he did indeed fear the notion of that far much more than he could ever fear death: self-induced or otherwise.

-


	26. Friday, October 26th

Kat was happy.

Happy besides the uneasy sensation in their stomach, but above all, happy.

But the question it all begged was indeed just when bearable became unbearable, when happy became unhappy: where was that line and how did you know you had crossed it?

There was, in truth, no telling of such a matter, and that was what left them puzzled: a weight on their chest as they lay awake, far too early, as they had before, as they perhaps would for everyday they lived.

There was no tell of how many days that could and would be, as well. Because much as you never knew what day would be your first, you never knew what would be your last.

Kat wondered what such a morbid topic of thought was doing upon their mind at such a time in the morning, but indeed managed to conclude that it would be okay, because they were happy, and if they died as they were right now, perhaps it wouldn't be such a shame. Sure, they would have died young, but that would have been out of their control.

They were happy, and that was what mattered.

But the sinking feeling in their stomach did not cease, and hadn't for a good twenty five minutes now, and it was perhaps at that point at which they crossed the line; the sinking feeling becoming a hassle and a problem instead of just ignorable and easy to pass off as meaning very little in general.

They couldn't pinpoint as just what had called for the crossing of that line, but they were perhaps too concentrated on the sinking feeling itself to really consider the matters of lines and crossing them.

It was a sense of uneasiness: the sinking feeling.

But such uneasiness was indeed entirely uncalled for and held no meaning and no worth in their current situation as they lay awake in bed: curtains open, watching the dark sky become a sunrise, because they saw little point in getting out of bed, just yet.

They were safe. They were at home, they were not in danger, but despite all that, something was wrong, and the feeling grew even stronger - and if whether simply as a result of obsessive thinking about it, or for any logical reason, Kat got out of bed.

Kat crossed another line.

Because it was that simple: everything was made up of little opportunities and choices, lines and whether you crossed them or not. The whole world could revolve around whether you took a left or a right turn on your way home, but indeed you would never know, as sure you could go and take a different route on your way the next day, but it would never be the same situation - it would never be that same moment, and in that current moment, Kat couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

The house seemed to creak a little as they made their way through it: closing their bedroom door and fumbling with the lightswitch as they made their way out into the hall, and wincing a little as a light far too yellow and far too intense flooded their vision, allowing them to make out the shapes of objects and furniture that meant little at all.

There was nothing, as far as they could see, nothing out of the ordinary, but their heart and their stomach, and the little voice at the back of their mind disagreed.

And they had to listen, as a being constructed on a foundation of instinct and impulse, they did have to listen, and step further down the hallway, considering just where to go and what to do, as before them lay the bathroom door, and to the right, Gerard's room, and then their mother's room further down the hall, behind them, but they were left with no sense of anything at all.

Until, came a quiet muffled, "fuck..." from the left. Gerard's room.

They stood frozen for a moment, recognising that voice to indeed be their brother's, and finding themself instantly inclined to brush it off as something meaningless - something spoken in his sleep, perhaps, but the sinking feeling in their stomach yelled to disagree.

And with that, they opened Gerard's bedroom door, finding themself a little surprised to be hit with such light, and Gerard: perfectly awake, sat at the desk - fully dressed and indeed a little damp from the looks of it.

Gerard turned around to face Kat as they heard the door click open, and met his sibling's gaze with wide hazel eyes: reddening around the edges, and a cold, almost blue grey tone to his skin, as if he was dead or something equally as preposterous. The reality was the cold, and the weather and it didn't take Kat long to conclude that Gerard had snuck out, wearing only a hoodie and jeans in the middle of what Kat could only assume to be a rainstorm from the way his hair was damp, and in places just plain wet, and stuck together in clumps. His clothes, also stuck to him and were without a doubt incredibly uncomfortable.

"Are you o-okay?" Kat stumbled out, coming to realise that they had indeed just been staring rather dumbfoundedly at their brother for what was easily three minutes now.

Gerard nodded, brushing something away on the desk, before turning around to face Kat properly. "Yeah... I..."

"You went outside?" Kat asked, closing the door behind them, finding the sinking feeling in their stomach cease somewhat.

"Y-yeah..." Gerard nodded: a little uneasy, as his bruised fingers began to tap at the arm of his chair. "I... just... I... went out for... for a walk."

"Oh." Kat nodded, "you should tell someone where you're going, though. I'm not meaning to act all fucking parental on you, but what if I woke up and you weren't back yet, I'd probably have some sort of freak out."

Gerard bit his lip, nodding. Guilty. He'd made a mistake. He'd made so many mistakes. And he didn't deserve anything. And indeed he didn't even remember. It had been one of those nights. He'd opened his eyes at this desk, but here he was: drenched. "Y-yeah... okay."

Kat smiled, "good to know. You want me to make you breakfast or something? You should take a shower or you're going to get sick."

Gerard nodded, "y-yeah," and watched as Kat left the room and tried not to think about how it didn't fucking matter if he got sick. It was the twenty sixth of October and he simply hadn't a care in the world.

Except perhaps for what he could only assume to be a walk in the rain: a walk he'd forgotten. He wondered how much his mind would deteriorate before it ceased to exist altogether, and in some ways it was kind of like a fun experiment, sick as that might sound, but the reality of it, Gerard was very fucking sick, so he could be as sick minded as he liked.

-

Gerard figured it out much sooner that day.

He had indeed always been just so fucking observant, even as he led himself to the end of the world.

Because Gerard did indeed look.

He looked and he listened as he walked out of his house and he noticed the lack of puddles, and the dry tone to the cold air. It didn't settle right in his stomach, for sure, and he didn't quite know what to do about that, because there was a definite disconnection between his own version of events and what was laid out rather plainly before him.

But the thing was, he just didn't quite know whether he could trust his head or the world around him more.

But what indeed did it matter.

Water was all the same in the end: cyclical, continuous, immortal was ever droplet, in a sense. There was little difference between the rain and the ocean, in all honestly, and therefore little cause for concern, but Gerard's head was indeed engineered for nothing less than brutal overthinking and an unstoppable urge to pick at himself until there was nothing left.

Everything was the same in the end.

Black and white, when it came down it, were just shades of grey.

Colours were just differences in light, and feeling only existed as you detected it.

Life was a window, and death was being locked in a dark room, and there were no such things as doors.

Time was a man made construct and so was the concept of existence, and meaning, and good and evil, and pure and sin, and at the end of the world, stood the earth and the ocean.

And Gerard stood, as moments ticked by upon trembling feet. Upon cold feet. Upon wet feet. Upon familiarity in the tide, in the ocean, upon the events of a night prior buried deep inside the hells of his mind.

And Gerard stood, helpless, and with a desire to do anything but scream, because there was no point in that anymore. There had never been. There had never been any hope. There had been rules - there had distinctly been his doctor telling him to take his pills because they'd make him better.

He wondered what defined better, but on much the same notion, he found himself yielded with very little care for the matter.

There was the crashing of the ocean waves and there were footsteps behind him: footsteps he had come to recognise, but they didn't belong to a person he was all that familiar with.

She offered him a small smile from across the beach and somehow took Gerard's lack of any form of response to approach him and even sit down beside him before the tide.

Gerard wondered if Lindsey also possessed enough audacity to question the silence between them: the lack of words in an unwanted conversation somehow rendering itself something to ponder.

Gerard wondered a lot, but a little that related so directly to Lindsey Ballato, who was indeed just that - Lindsey Ballato, Frank's friend.

He'd gathered by now that the fewer people he got to know and in turn formed any kind of emotional connection with, the better. He didn't want to hurt people - he'd never wanted to hurt people, but here he was: still cold, still drenched, because he couldn't bring himself to take a shower.

He couldn't bring himself to do much anymore.

What meaning did three regular meals a day hold?

What meaning a healthy and balanced diet hold?

What meaning did personal hygiene hold?

What meaning did basic self-care and a vague attempt not to drive himself downright insane count for when it was October the fucking twenty sixth and everything was going to fade away into blackness in a short time?

"Are you alright, Gerard?" Lindsey asked after a moment, and Gerard did indeed highly consider not answering here, but there was no one here to speak for him or explain, so he found himself forced into muttering out some form of half hearted response.

He gave a shrug, "yeah?" The lack of certainty in his voice was anything but promise, but still, much as everything else did, it held so little meaning and indeed so little worth in a world ever slipping from his grasp.

"You don't sound convinced." She told him, narrowing her gaze a little, she paused for a moment, "you should feel good. Good about yourself, because a lot of people care about you. Frank in particular."

Gerard questioned the logic in her words, but instead only raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, he's... he..." She trailed off, kicking at the sand with her boots, "he's... he's, honestly, Gerard, he's in love with you. That's quite clear, don't you think?"

And Gerard's stomach was a stone thrown into a river, as he lost touch with the entirety of the English language, and perhaps even indeed himself.

This was too much.

Liking one another had been too much, and now-

"I didn't mean to overwhelm you, Gerard, I just feel like you should feel better about yourself," she offered with a smile.

Gerard forced himself to return her smile as his head felt as if toppled right off his shoulders, rolled down his body and into the tide, only to be swept away into the ocean.

He'd never asked for this.

In fact, he'd easily made himself the least lovable person on Earth, and yet.

And yet.

And yet...

-

It was a sense of wrong.

Not uneasiness as a lack of safety, but the uneasy feeling that came with getting something wrong. Being wrong about something that mattered.

The heart destroying realisation that somewhere, somehow, down the line you'd gotten something wrong and in consequence, fucked up rather spectacularly.

It was obvious in retrospect, but then again, so were most things, and unfortunately, you couldn't live looking over your shoulder, and indeed in the moment, in the present it had been a sensible mistake.

A very human mistake, and perhaps that was what was quite so important about it.

But they had been wrong.

So very wrong.

And the realisation only hit them later that day. The twenty sixth.

It hit them as they sat at home with their mother, as she didn't work Fridays and Pete couldn't hang out with them until tomorrow, which was seriously bumming them out, because they'd grown rather accustomed to just staring at Pete in a lovestruck manner, because, hey it wasn't like anyone was there to stop them.

They sat in the living room: the TV on in the background as their mother sipped coffee and watched it, and as they scrolled mindlessly through various websites on their laptop - not really paying the TV a great deal of attention until their mother brought something to their attention.

Something rather meaningless, but something that brought with it the power to change the world. "Going to rain tonight. Pouring down."

Kat looked up: nodding vaguely. "Mmm."

"Don't go out to Pete's and get soaked, will you? I don't want you dying of hypothermia, and I know you always come back at ridiculous o'clock in the morning." She smiled a little, tutting only half heartedly, as Kat couldn't help but blush.

"Maybe you should be telling Gerard that, not me." Kat offered.

"What? Gerard's sneaking out to see your boyfriend?" She laughed a little.

"No," Kat sighed - Gerard was most likely sneaking out to see his boyfriend, which was something Kat couldn't quite get to grips with, because in their mind, Gerard was still so young and so innocent, and not seventeen and didn't have a boyfriend or a world full of worries. "He just... last night he went out in the rain - absolutely soaked: drenched, his hair, his clothes, everything. In fact, his skin was even a little blue: chilled to the bone."

Mrs Way paused for a moment: puzzled. "Didn't rain last night." She told them.

Kat looked at her oddly, "must have."

"Yeah..." She trailed off, "must have- but no, I'm sure of it - I checked the weather and- the. Mi- Kat, sorry..." She blushed; he nodded to say it was okay, because in all honesty, she was trying, "look outside, though. There's not a sign of rain, are you sure this wasn't the other night or something?"

Kat got up and looked through the window, and indeed surveyed the world around them, and there was indeed no signs remaining of such a dreadful rain storm that they'd be certain to have only occurred hours ago. "It was last night."

"Didn't rain last night." She told them, "you must have got it wrong, honey."

Kat bit their lip, "didn't rain last night. I got it wrong."

And then came the sinking feeling.

Because they had been wrong, but not about the night, because last Gerard had come in drenched and frozen. They couldn't quite piece it all together. But they knew for sure that they'd gotten it wrong somehow.

Kat stood for a moment, taking in the situations and the clues and the facts, and things that didn't quite add up, and glanced back to their mother, "Gerard lied to me. He lied to me. He doesn't lie. He doesn't like lying."

Mrs Way paused, "this seems odd," she thought it over in her head, "he went out, so we can't even ask him until he comes back-"

"We?" Kat raised their eyebrows, "no, this isn't your business, and he doesn't want you peering into his thoughts. You don't get him like I do. He's my brother. I know him."

"You don't own him." She narrowed her eyes at them, "if you fully knew him then this wouldn't be an issue because you would have known the truth, wouldn't you?"

"Oh stop being fucking petty." They snapped, running a hand back through their hair and storming out and into Gerard's room, hearing their mother call back after him: a tune to the chorus of 'don't speak to your mother like that', but they couldn't give a fuck.

Because this was the sinking feeling.

They'd been wrong and now they needed to be right.

They needed to fix this.

They needed to fix him.

Because perhaps there had been more lies than Kat had ever accounted for, and perhaps Gerard had not been getting better but getting worse, and perhaps early mornings were just late nights.

They couldn't fix him.

The realisation dawned.

Gerard was a person of his own control and emotion.

The realisation dawned a little too late.

A little too late.

Kat was in general a little too late as they stood amidst their brother's bedroom with worry on October the twenty sixth, and still, they didn't have a clue. They didn't have a clue in the world what could possibly be going on in Gerard's head, and they did indeed doubt that they ever would.

Gerard's room was far too messy.

Gerard did indeed find himself inclined to a certain order to things, and his room did anything but reflect that. It lay as a mess with photographs scattered vaguely across the desk and in some cases, the surrounding floor.

Kat knew there was something innately wrong with sneaking around someone else's room, but they were indeed panicked and desperate, and perhaps even panicked and desperate enough to justify a lack of moral thinking, and on that reasoning, they found themself moving through the mess towards the chest of drawers and opening it frantically: looking to find something, to find anything.

To find the answers to the rainstorm that seemed to have occurred for Gerard and only Gerard.

But instead, they found the answers to a question they had never even asked.

As what lay before them was the drawer full of pills.

The months' worth of pills that Gerard had not taken: hundreds of pills.

And Kat felt sick like they'd taken them all in, just with their eyes.

-


	27. Saturday, October 27th

As people we all are so close minded, so zoomed in on our own little section of the universe and life, and of course, that is to be expected, but in that very same way, it is expected to cause fault.

One such stellar example of an aforementioned fault was Kat's inability. Not inability in general, as overall, Kat Way was a very capable human being: doing well in school, with quite a few friends and a boyfriend, but when it came to Gerard and the one immensely important thing that loomed over them as a family, they'd completely missed it.

It was their inability to look and really notice like Gerard did.

Kat didn't notice the signs that it hadn't rained. Gerard had; Gerard had instantly.

Kat didn't look at a person and gather pieces of information about their personality from the way they looked away throughout a conversation, and the marks on their hands. Gerard could and Gerard did.

And most of all, Kat didn't notice the vast change in Gerard, and the didn't consider what could have possibly caused it. They didn't notice all that was in Gerard as they didn't see this as a possibility within him. But it was. It had happened, and the reality was like a punch in the gut, because suddenly everything began to add up.

The pills accounted for a lot.

The hundreds of pills accounted for the whole.

And Kat hadn't noticed at all.

They hadn't noticed Gerard's general decline in mood and trouble sleeping and general downwards spiral, and sudden burst of creativity, and the way he'd gotten through at least a dozen blue pens over the past three months.

They had seen but they hadn't really noticed and they most certainly hadn't added it all together.

The pills did that for them though now, as it lay too late, as the pills lay in their multitudes and Kat contemplated what to say and what to do and whether to run to their mother and tell her all, because she'd freak and they didn't want her to snap out of this 'phase' of decently acceptable parenting, but still they couldn't brush it off and think nothing of it. In fact, that was easily the last thing they'd do.

Gerard disliked confrontation. They knew that very well indeed.

But Kat disliked the idea of Gerard fucking himself up by not taking his meds for literally months, so they were going to fucking have to deal with some form of dislike here.

They just didn't know what to say; they didn't understand it at all, and perhaps the sole thing they could do here was to ask why.

They had laid awake all night thinking it over: having stumbled into an odd kind of trance in which they spent the rest of the day alone in their room on edge; they'd left the draw open, because Gerard would notice, and they wanted him to notice, because they wanted to have this conversation but couldn't bring themself to start it.

But still, come four in the morning, Gerard wasn't home, and perhaps that was even beginning to concern Kat more than the pills had, and that was one hell of a lot, because what the fuck were they supposed to do, because they couldn't force Gerard to do anything and he wouldn't just be doing this for no reason, and they even reckoned that getting him to taking them again might be even out of their control.

But that didn't matter when Gerard wasn't home.

They could worry about the beginning of the conversation and the forming of the solution when their brother faced them, when the front door slammed shut, but it was four in the morning and the house ached with silence, and Kat ached with worry, because a drawer full of pills didn't leave Kat with particularly optimistic speculations as to where and what Gerard could be doing at this time of night, this time of morning, because he'd left sometime in the middle of yesterday, and it had been over twelve hours and-

And perhaps he was with Frank.

Kat didn't like the idea of Gerard and Frank; they never had, but they didn't doubt that Gerard was safe with Frank.

They wondered if Frank knew. Their whole body shivered and lurched at the notion of Frank knowing and Frank not doing anything, not saying anything, because Frank had to know that this was bad and this was wrong- no, Frank would know that. Frank did care, and Frank cared enough to not allow Gerard to do this to himself.

So Frank didn't know. Frank couldn't know.

Gerard was far too secretive, far too reserved; he'd keep this to himself, he'd keep everything to himself, and especially the reason why, because his head was a mess and he liked it that way, and Kat wondered if their brother detested the way the pills made him feel better.

Because they knew Gerard got accustomed to things and found comfort in even though most terrible things, like the way their parents always argued, like the way their mother had been, because that, in his eyes, had been how it was supposed to be, and in his eyes, a solution was disarray and maybe he'd torn himself to pieces because he couldn't stand the sight of himself in full.

And the thought made Kat sick, and they knew they'd only dig themself into deeper and darker corners of their mind as they continued to speculate every worst possible outcome, and in that, they gave up, and got out of bed, because being an early riser, they weren't unaccustomed to half four in the morning, they just were unaccustomed to being conscious through every hour before.

They made their way into the kitchen, thinking that the only possible solution could be caffeine, but as they made it through and fumbled for the light switch, the yellow glow of light illuminated more than the various cabinets and appliances, but the boy stood before the door: long black hair drenched and a terrified expression upon his face.

The boy whose world was turned upside down before he'd even wandered into his room, before he'd even glanced across at the open drawer.

Because it hadn't rained this morning either.

Gerard was the first to speak however, which perhaps shocked even the both of them, as he locked eyes with Kat and just gave up.

"I think I'm going mad." He admitted: his voice hushed, "properly mad."

Kat paused, biting back an awfully snide and generally unhelpful comment about his medication, "what do you mean?" They took a step forward: making sure to keep their voice quiet and the concern evident in their voice, because Gerard noticed far too much in the most simplest of things.

Gerard began to bite down at his lip, "I keep, I don't know, I just... losing parts of my memory, losing myself, and I thought it would be okay, but it's just too much, it's getting too much and I'm- I don't know, I don't know what's happening to me," he broke down into sobs, leaving Kat tentative in approaching him and even more so in any mention of the lack of medication that was most likely causing this.

"Would you like a hug?" Kat asked, deciding that it was better to ask first; Gerard looked up and shook his head, leaving Kat a little disappointed but they nodded and respected Gerard's wishes by keeping the distance between them. "You're soaked again," they let out a sigh, "you really should take a bath, Gerard, or you'll get sick."

"Can't." He snapped out: his tone somewhat bitter. "I can't. I can't do that."

Kat found themself perplexed, "why not?"

Gerard shook his head, "just can't, I just- bad things, I-"

"How about a shower?" Kat offered, trying their best here, but they knew that with what little Gerard was giving them they'd struggle in identifying the issue here.

Gerard shook his head again, "same thing. It's all the same thing- it's... it's..." He seemed to choke on his own words.

"Gerard, you don't have to explain if you feel like you can't or you don't want to." Kat offered him a smile, "could you dry yourself with a towel and get changed into some other clothes, though? You shouldn't be in wet clothes."

Gerard paused for a moment before nodding, "yeah- I- I-" He cut himself off, nodding at Kat, before making his way down the hallway, grabbing a towel from the bathroom before going into his room.

Kat let out a sigh, switching the kettle on and grabbing two mugs to make them both some coffee, because it would at least warm Gerard up and they didn't particularly want him to get hypothermia or something.

It was only a few minutes later as Gerard was still yet to return from his room, that what was easily the worst realisation ever hit Kat - the realisation that inside Gerard's bedroom lay that one simple opened drawer that split the whole world in two, and as they really began to consider the implications and consequences of such a thing, the door slammed open and Gerard made his way down the hallway with considerable force - not failing to render Kat a little anxious.

"You looked through my stuff." Gerard stood in a new set of clothes, raising his voice to yell at Kat for the first time in ever forever.

Kat opened their mouth: unsure what the fuck to say, because if they yelled back then they would just be having an argument, and fuck that really wasn't how they wanted to approach this, but fuck, they couldn't just leave it.

"It hasn't rained in the past few days." Kat told him: voice calm.

Gerard let out a sigh, calming a little, "I know." His tone was suddenly so very fucking quiet and timid in nature. He sat down at the table, glancing up at Kat, "I know."

"What happened, Gerard?" Kat continued to ask, keeping their tone as neutral as possible as not to trip Gerard up in various possible implications of every word, because they figured out the basis of how Gerard thought by now, and one of Gerard's main principles of thinking was, of course, overthinking.

"I don't know." He stuttered, looking up at Kat, "these are the things I can't remember."

"You think maybe this has something to do with your meds?" Kat asked, "they're there for a reason."

Gerard only looked away, not sure what to say, and not sure if he was at all ready to say it.

"I'm not angry at you. I won't tell mum, I just want to know why. I just want to know why you don't want to take them." Kat told him: his tone calm and even, to some degree, comforting.

Gerard looked up at Kat and smiled, "I can't paint when I take them. No creativity and all that." He said far too casually.

"Gerard, you- they're there to keep your mood in check and make sure you don't-"

"I'm fine." Gerard told them, "I haven't taken them in months so the memory thing isn't to do with that." He added, "I really am fine. It's all going to be fine."

"You should take them. You really should." Kat continued, still unable to find the logic behind this all, but it did indeed seem to make sense for Gerard, and that was all that took for him to do it.

Gerard let out a sigh and told his sibling the blatant truth, "I don't give a fuck." He smiled a little, "I really don't give the slightest fuck what I 'should' do. I want to paint. And I can only do that without them."

"You value your paintings over mental stability?" Kat asked, eyes widening a little.

Gerard thought for a moment, before nodding, "yes. I mean, paintings are permanent, well much more so than mental stability - that changes all the time."

"Gerard, you know that you not taking them puts you at risk of, getting really bad mentally, like you could get yourself into all kinds of horrible shit, I just, I don't want you to get hurt, Gerard." Kat sat down beside him with their coffee.

"I'm not gonna get hurt, Kat," Gerard smiled, "it's all going to be fine."

"How can you say that?" Kat asked.

"Because I know." Gerard continued, "because I've got everything planned, because that's all I do: plan, and think, and pay attention - watch and listen, and know instantly that it didn't rain, and I know that stopping taking my pills was a bad thing - I knew what it would do, but that didn't and doesn't matter to me. It's all okay."

And Kat was speechless as they looked over their brother for any form of logic, or any form of rational, and it was perhaps then that they realised that Gerard didn't need to logic to think and form conclusions: thinking on intuition, thinking on what felt right, and somehow that had led him here.

And Kat knew that there was little hope in leading him back.

-

Gerard had remained generally unresponsive, and in fact as time went on, Kat only seemed to get less and less out of him, and to the point where they gave up and let Gerard go back to his room in the hope that he'd at least get some sleep, because that was something he definitely needed considering the state he was in.

Kat knew what the problem was; Gerard just didn't want to listen to them, and as brutal as it sounded, he just didn't care enough about their opinion to listen, sure, he cared about Kat, but not what they had to say in regards to his life and health.

And come something like nine that morning, still on no sleep and several cups of coffee, Kat finally came to some form of conclusion, or at least the best conclusion they reckoned they could come to, and that was the one person Gerard might give more of a shit about.

Frank.

And of course, Kat despised the notion of Gerard listening to Frank and not them, and indeed Frank's reaction to hearing about the pills and the mess Gerard was getting himself into, but Kat cared more about their Gerard more than they cared about the petty kind of temporary things.

Gerard was in a serious kind of mess here: a kind of mess that could easily be permanent if they didn't do something to change his mind on this all.

And that was how, with baited breath, Kat arrived on Frank iero's doorstep at nine that morning: their mind a fretting mess as they took up Gerard's habit of overthinking, because there was silence and still and no other way to fill it, and truthfully, the lack of sleep and the excess of caffeine was most certainly not helping.

And as they waited in silence and over thought there was indeed the matter of just what to say to Frank, and just what kind of reaction that would bring forth, and then of course the worst case situation that was of course the possibility that Frank might not be able to change Gerard's mind on this and talk him around.

Because that was the thing with Gerard - you just never knew, and there was no fixing that, at least not for Kat, perhaps for Frank, though.

And Kat stood there, resting the whole world on Frank's shoulders as he finally opened his front door, looking a little disgruntled, and a little more confused to see Kat as opposed to Gerard before him, and Kat did indeed imagine that he wasn't exactly going to be relieved when it came to the reason why, but there just wasn't very much Kat could do to change that or soften the blow.

"Hey," Frank began, trying not to come off too rude, but the fact that he didn't exactly want Kat there was evident. "What's... what's going on?"

Kat let out a sigh and offered him an awkward smile before stepping forward, "I need to talk to you."

Frank nodded slowly and stepped aside to let Kat in, slightly disgruntled or not, he saw the urgency in their eyes, and indeed care for them, and not just as Gerard's sibling, but as Kat Way, who had been the first of the two Way siblings that he'd met, after all.

"What is it?" Frank asked as he close the door behind them and led them into the living room to sit down.

Kat let out a sigh, unsure how best to approach the mess of a situation they found themself faced with. "It's Gerard..."

"Oh?..." Frank looked up at him awkwardly, "what about Gerard?" He bit his lip: immediately nervous for reasons Kat could easily piece together.

"He's-" Kat began only to cut themself off, "he's... I... well... you know that he's on medication?"

Frank paused for a moment, before nodding, "yeah, I know that he's got like-"

"Yeah, that's not the issue here." Kat met Frank's eyes, "the matter of him being on the medication isn't the issue here, it's just that, I- he's not taking it and he hasn't been for months. I found this drawer full of hundreds of pills he hadn't taken in his room, and I don't know what to do about it - he found out that I knew and I tried to explain it to him, that he can't do this, but he just didn't want to hear, it was like he just didn't care that he was ruining himself by doing this, and I... I..." Kat let out a sigh, "I guess this is me hoping he'd listen to you."

Frank was completely silent: his heart sinking to his stomach. "He's not okay." He said, not meeting Kat's eyes, "there's something going on, I just can't pinpoint it exactly."

"Yeah," Kat nodded, "he's not been sleeping and he's said that there are portions of his day he can't remember and it's all just so-"

"Fuck..." Frank cursed, throwing his head into his hands.

"You'll talk to him?" Kat asked: hopeful.

Frank bit his lip and nodded, "I can try. I just... I was sure of something, but now, I think, I think I'm not- I think I fucked up here. I... I... I think something's really wrong."

Frank bit his lip: blue ink flashing across his mind.

-


	28. Sunday, October 28th

"What's going on, Gerard?" Frank reached for his hand as the two sat atop the cliff, watching bottle green waves fade into shades of cobalt and teal as they rolled off into the horizon.

Gerard said nothing, because the matters of what was going on was indeed rather broad, and indeed, in the world as a whole, there was a hell of a lot going on, but of course, Frank wasn't interested in the whole of the world, just Gerard and what was going on for him.

Gerard feared that Frank had figured it out: pieced it all together, or at least made a start in doing so, because then, what would and what could he do? Because if, if he saw November 2nd, he honestly didn't know what he'd do; he had this habit of planning for every day and working everything out weeks in advance, and November 2nd was a day he had not planned on seeing at all.

Frank cared for him, and it wasn't like Gerard didn't appreciate that or care for him back; he did, and that was what made this all so much harder to do, but it had to be done - it was simple, it was like the sun setting on the horizon one last time: one flash tangerine reflection upon the still dark ocean, because for Gerard, the end of a day, was the end of everything, and that was how it had to be.

Because he couldn't get better, because he didn't want to get better, and that was not something he voiced because he was well aware as to how absurd it sounded, but he just couldn't really explain it, but it was as it was, and he had indeed found himself rather attached to the bottom of his heart and the darkest corners of his mind.

And he could romanticise this sense of hell he found himself in all he fucking wanted, because if you were going to destroy yourself, you might as well make it worth the while, and if you were going to drain the blood from your body, you might as well paint a pretty picture. Not that Gerard was all so keen upon cutting himself, because blood had never been something he was good with, and he much prefered the spectrum of different coloured pills he kept in a drawer in his room.

A spectrum he'd shared with Kat, unintentionally, and this clifftop chat was a result of that, and a result of Kat giving up: not entirely, but to the degree where they finally came to comprehend that Gerard just wasn't going to listen to them, because they gave empty advice based on a lack of understanding, and they were doing little to rectify that.

Frank was little change; Frank just looked a little nice when he smiled at him, and Gerard's heart did this fluttery regretful thing when they made eye contact, because Gerard had known this all along, and he had to respect that his suicide date had come before he'd even known Frank, and logically, it was only fair that way, surely?

Or maybe he'd just gotten too good at making excuses to himself; he'd had a hell of a lot of time - all he'd had was time and nights alone and empty stares, and the ability to name every shade of blue in the sky.

"Navy to indigo." Gerard said, pointing to the darkest point where the sky met the sea.

Frank looked confused momentarily, before realising that Gerard had vocalised some part of a conversation in his head; he tried his best to make sense of it, as he always did, but he couldn't quite manage it, again, as he always did. 

"The sky." Gerard continued, turning to Frank with a sad look in his eyes, "the colours are beautiful and dark, and powerful: they're overcast and hold power over the town, and we are here little silhouettes atop a cliff face and we could fade right out into nothingness and it wouldn't matter at all, because there's so much more, there's so much more than me, there's so much more than us. What's going on? What's going on in the world? So much. Everything. The entire world is going on: there is rain, there are storms, there's the sun, there's snow, there's anger, there's hatred, there's kindness, and there's love, and in all that, you're focusing in on me and my mind. I am so small, and so insignificant."

Frank paused for a moment, not having expected such a profound speech from Gerard, but he could never anticipate half the things that left the boy's lips and that was exactly what made him as he was. "You're not insignificant to me." He added with a small, hopeful smile.

"Look at the sky." Gerard told him, brushing off his response, "look at all those colours: that sky holds more in this one moment than I ever could in a lifetime."

"And why are you saying that?" Frank asked, failing in keeping his voice calm this time, "how could you say that? How could you say that? You'd never know, and you- all this Gerard, I just can't- I just... please, please..." Frank broke down a little, leaving Gerard to glance between him and the sky with confusion.

He gave his hand an awkward yet comforting squeeze. "You can."

"I can what?" Frank laughed at him in disbelief.

"Whatever you say you can't." Gerard leaned back against the grass. "I have this kind of astounding faith in you. I think you're a beautiful person, Frank."

Frank felt a knot forming in his throat, "you're beautiful too, Gerard."

Gerard smiled, feeling every time Frank had said those words to him coming right back, "that doesn't mean anything to me. To you it does, and thank you, but for me, it's just... just very little. What do you think's going on with me?"

"I think-" Frank swallowed, unable to get the words out, "I think you're- you're trying to kill yourself."

Gerard offered him a small apologetic smile, before sitting up, "no."

"No?" Frank exclaimed, his eyes widening in a mix between shock and relief.

"No." Gerard reassured him.

"But the pills and those letters and-"

"I'm not  _ trying _ to kill myself." Gerard repeated: his words firm and his tone oddly dictating, and Frank was so ready to listen because this was exactly what he wanted to hear, and Gerard's voice was so stern and so certain.

"Do you mean that?" Frank had to ask.

Gerard nodded, "I do. I'm not trying to kill myself."

Frank let out a sigh of relief, leaning into Gerard's side, trusting in him and that everything was going to be okay.

But Gerard held the truth, the truth part two, so to speak, because the fact that he wasn't trying to kill himself hadn't been a lie, it just wasn't the whole truth, because he wasn't trying to kill himself.

He was  _ going _ to.

"Then what is it?" Frank asked in the continued silence, eyes fixed upon the ocean and then back on Gerard again, because he was truly beautiful, but so obviously hurt, and perhaps even hurting himself, and dragging himself down into a kind of hell that Frank couldn't hope to retrieve him from, but still, Frank found himself trying because there was nothing else to do.

He couldn't just let Gerard ruin himself like this.

Even as he insisted that he and everything was okay, because it really wasn't, and Frank had perhaps always known that, but had never found himself happy to admit such a thing, because he had always been so intoxicated with the idea of Gerard being fine and Gerard being the picture perfect poster boy for humanity that he'd set him up to be.

In a matter of minutes, Frank found himself certain of it - certain that there was something more: certain that there had always been something more, certain that his great talent lay in none other than his ignorance, and certain that the past month had served as nothing but proof for the aforementioned.

Surely, Gerard hadn't lied to him though, because his voice had held such certainty, and Gerard didn't tend to lie, because Gerard had never outrightly lied to him; the two had just danced awkwardly around the two, and it was just as much Frank's fault as it was Gerard's - they had always been both to blame, because they were going down, and they were going down, hand in hand, because if Gerard thought for a single moment that he could kill himself and that Frank would be okay in the end, he was severely mistaken.

Going through it in his mind, Frank was so sure of it all, yet sure of nothing else, because Gerard was in the worst place: one in which he never tended to speak much, and avoided the blunt truth like it might hurt him, and perhaps it did - perhaps this all hurt him, and perhaps that was why he was so intent upon burning himself out.

Once, before, at the start of all of this, he'd thought he'd figured Gerard out, but now it was evident that he didn't know him at all, and that the version of Gerard that had come under glistening golden light: under the rays of beauty and perfection, was a distorted reflection through several mirrors and glanced at through tainted spectacles, because Gerard was tearing and shattered in all places; he was decaying, ruining himself, and quickly becoming nothing, and the realisation of it all was a harsh punch to the face.

Inevitably, he found himself coming to conclude that Gerard was spiralling out of control, and in turn, that there was so little he could do to rectify that, because Gerard was so far gone, and so far caught up in himself and the demons of his own mind, and the drawer of pills that lay ignored, and whatever else he could possibly hide up there in his head - things that Frank didn't dare imagine but found himself forced to ask for.

Never before had he really held the aforementioned with such certainty, but now it was obvious, so blindingly fucking obvious now, and he'd been so fucking ignorant, and he found himself hating himself for it, because what else was there to do as the two sat in a continued silence as Gerard found himself unable to trust Frank with anything at all truthful, because Frank needed something, anything, in the form of answers, but he found himself with nothing but the silence and the calm of the waves upon the ocean, and the cold breeze of October fading away around them.

Gerard had always been like this, Frank had just failed to notice, and in essence, he'd failed him, and he'd failed Kat, because here he was: the one person Gerard had trusted above all - his fucking boyfriend, and here he was, failing to get anything out of him, because it seemed that what trust they had between them didn't count when it mattered, and that hurt.

Truthfully, Frank had perhaps prevented himself from noticing: forced the possibility from his mind, and truthfully that was so much his fault that it hurt, but truthfully, he couldn't help but forgive himself for it, because he'd been so in love, and so caught up in the image of who he wanted Gerard to be, that he couldn't escape it, and truthfully, he was still so in love, and still so ensnared in that world view.

Only such love and admiration for a person could do that to you, and Frank hated it, because he couldn't ever consider hating Gerard, who had been so beautiful and so lovely and so hurt, and yet had hid this all from him and everyone, and ruined his life, and refused to say a word for himself, and fuck, Frank wanted to hate him, because although it would accomplish so very little, Frank felt like it was much more of a natural human reaction than just sitting feeling sorry for himself in a pathetic kind of silence.

Daring, in fact, to consider and encourage the possibility that Gerard might have been fine was ridiculous, and he had done so; he'd done so extravagantly - he'd overdone it, he'd made a show out of it, he'd made it everything; he'd constructed this entire world out of fakery, and now found himself startled and panicked as it began to tumble down around him.

In time, he'd come to know it, but before he'd found himself so blinded by optimism and hope: so blinded by the ever present wish for Gerard to be okay, because in all truth, he'd known a little from their first meeting that there had been something off about Gerard, and he'd watched, as he grew closer to him, how that little thing that grown and mutated into something controlling and terrible, and Frank had said nothing, because in time, he'd found himself brushing it over: accustomed to it.

Essentially, he'd blocked out everything that would have alluded to the truth and helped him in helping Gerard, and essentially, he sat here in pathetic silence, blaming himself for what had happened instead of doing something to fix what little he could.

"What's going on?" He pleaded for a second time, reaching for Gerard's hand without asking, which was already a mistake, and he knew that, because he did know Gerard, but part of him just wanted any alternative to the cruel silence that blanketed them. "What is it if you're not trying to kill yourself? You're not in a good state, Gerard, fuck, please, let me help you, let me, please, just say something."

"I'm depressed, or something," Gerard said: offhand, casually, "everything seems so fucking pointless: washed out and grey." He glanced at the very blue sea. "I'm depressed, but you can't help me with that, because it what's inside my head: it's internal, and you're... you're external."

And there was something in those few words that cut right through Frank and slit his heart in two.

It's internal, and you're external.

That was Gerard telling him to go fuck himself in the most polite and poetic of ways, and Frank was indeed, perpetually, nothing but dumbfounded, because what could he do? Go and tell Kat that there was nothing they could do.

Because there had to be something.

Surely?

-

"It's not your fault." Kat told him with a sigh, leading Frank into their house, which was empty besides the two of them - Kat's mother being out shopping, and Gerard, being out somewhere, which was worrying the both of them, because the two had been doing little other than worrying about Gerard for the past few days.

"It's just Gerard..." Kat continued, leading Frank into the kitchen and letting out a sigh as they glanced down the hallway to their brother's bedroom. "Do you have any idea where he is now?"

Frank shook his head, "I asked him if he wanted to come back to mine earlier today and he said he was going to go home."

"And it doesn't take even him four hours to walk down three streets." Kat let out a sigh, "something's really wrong."

"All I got out of him is that he's not trying to kill himself, which is good, but then again, it doesn't ensure that the truth is going to be better." Frank brushed his hair out of his face, "and he's not been sleeping well, and he's really not in a good state of mind, and I just feel like there's nothing we can do about him, but we have to do something about him."

"He's only going to freak out if I tell mum or something - he'd probably run away from home or something. He's not good at talking to people and he's even worse at reacting rationally." Kat glanced back down the hallway; they'd suggested showing Frank the drawer in Gerard's bedroom, and seeing if Frank could figure anything out from the rest of the mess in their, because although going through Gerard's stuff was morally wrong, Kat would rather have a little bad karma than let their brother ruin his life in whatever way he was planning to.

Frank nodded, "it's not his fault. He's just... I don't know, he's just... he's unlike anyone I've met ever and I really struggle to relate to him or understand, but still, I feel so close to him, and I don't know why that is, and I just can't stomach the thought of him ruining himself or hating himself or whatever the fuck he could possibly- fuck..." He trailed off, "we can't keep stalling, can we? I have to look."

"You don't want to, do you?" Kat stated the obvious.

Frank grimaced: looking at it would make it real - not that he doubted Kat at all, but he was ever so good at brushing things off in his mind - in fact, he did so automatically at times: as a coping methods of sorts.

"Come on." Frank bit his lip, making his way down the hallway to Gerard's bedroom: having been in his house enough times to know where it was. Kat followed a few paces behind: holding their breath, because they didn't' want to look again, and they highly suspected that Frank might cry, and they honestly didn't know how to deal with that.

Kat closed the door behind the older boy and waited at the corner of the room as he made his way over to the chest of drawers and pulled them open: revealing random junk until the drawer full of pills came into view.

"Fuck- fuck, fuck, this is... this is..." Frank turned away, biting his lip, "this is worse than I could have imagined."

"I thought he would have gotten rid of them." Kat said after a moment.

"We already know - what's the point?" Frank asked, trying desperately not to cry.

Kat shrugged, "I don't know. i don't ever know with Gerard. No one does."

"I wish he would just, you know, talk to someone, ever." Frank cursed, leaning back against the wall, only to catch sight of something on the desk: a note, scribbled in black ink - handwriting rushed and uneven, as if there was no style or structure to it all:

_ An Apology. _

_ It didn't rain and I made you worry. I am sorry. _

_ I didn't take a bath when you told me to. I am sorry. _

_ I didn't take my pills for months. I am sorry. _

_ You might not see me again. I am sorry. _

_ I have to leave home. I am sorry. _

_ I told you I loved you and I didn't mean it. I am sorry. _

_ I let you hurt more than you needed to. I am sorry. _

_ I made you think I was beautiful. I am sorry. _

_ It's not going to rain until November 10th. _

_ But you won't have to tell me to take a bath this time. _

_ You won't have to worry at all. _

_ I'm so sorry. _

_ - _   
  



	29. Monday, October 29th

The world is so grey away from the ocean.

It is perhaps overwhelming, although Gerard was an easily overwhelmed person and began to wonder if thus his opinion really counted for much.

And Gerard was hardly a person anymore, just a wreckage and a cruel reminder of who he used to be; a house burning down, the kind of house people kept running into to try and save things from, but it was never any use, and they just kept getting burnt in the process, and of course, Gerard didn't want them to get hurt, but they wanted to save what was inside and Gerard had known that when he started the fire, and they would go inside to save him, or try to, and Gerard had known too all along.

Gerard wondered what on Earth he could count for when today was the twenty ninth of October, and tomorrow was the thirtieth, and the day after tomorrow the thirty first, and the day that being his last.

There wasn't much left him, and he most certainly had kept much left for himself.

Because the thing was that Frank and Kat had been beginning to piece things and they were ready to stop this all and put the fire out, but Gerard hadn't gotten to October twenty ninth to see November second; he hadn't gotten this far to keep going.

There was this concept of a marathon in his head, and now he was only a matter of a few days away from the finish line, and here they were to pull the finish line away from him: further away, to where they thought it should be, perhaps another sixty years or so down the line, but the thing was, Gerard just couldn't keep running for that long; he'd been running to reach a finish line and for it all to stop come November 1st, and if they attempted to prevent that, then he'd simply collapse somewhere along the way.

So he did all he thought to do; he kept running, he just ran in a slightly different direction: an alternate route that'd get him to that finish line just as well.

He had his wallet and his cellphone, his camera and a blue pen, letters already written and letters to be written, but besides that, nothing else. He had himself and he had something like three days left and an odd state of calm inside him as he had made his way to the other side of town and sat down on the outskirts of the woods in a field with his back against a stone wall and wondered what could come of him in the next three days.

He didn't want to run away; he had wanted to spend his last few days with the people he loved; he had wanted to attend Frank's birthday party and give him some form of adequate birthday gift in aid of perhaps balancing the act of killing himself, but now he had to spend those days hiding from them, because they wouldn't understand; they could never understand, because this was it, time was nearly fucking up, he was going to die on November 1st - that was a very fixed point in time, and easily the highlight of his life.

He was sorry though - this shouldn't have been the way to go, but it was circumstantial, and it wasn't really anyone's fault, and Gerard had far too few days left of his life to get angry, or to even give one single fuck; it was an odd kind of euphoric feeling as you floated out in the calm waves of a tide that never went in or out as it was the tide of an lake soon to be drained, but the lake remained calm because there was no point in fighting as there was nothing to change, and there'd be so many more oceans, rivers, and lakes, and a whole world beyond that.

He really did regret not being able to attend Frank's birthday party, because he had wanted to be there for him; he had wanted to spend his last night with him, and he'd wanted to slip away early in the morning and kill himself before anyone really knew what was wrong.

And Frank would cry.

But people did cry.

In the end, Frank would have cried at some point whether he had killed himself or not.

They were just tears.

People cried.

And this was a bad decision, but one he was allowing himself to make, because he deserved to be selfish, he deserved to die happily in a life that just didn't agree with him at all.

He lived with this omnipresent sense of unease, and finding himself forever panicked and uncomfortable by the idea of an uncertain end: the cutting off point. The concept of planning and dictating your own death made sense to him and had always done so.

And this was just the logical end for him, and it seemed that Kat didn't think so and maybe Frank wanted more time together, but the fucking thing was that Gerard's life was his own and not theirs, so in the nicest way possible, they could fuck off and let him die in peace.

Gerard did wonder how long it would take Kat to tell their mother; what it would take for Kat to tell their mother, because he knew Kat felt an innate dislike towards sharing things with her, and always wanted to fix things by themself, and indeed, at this point, Gerard was just curious, curious as he leaned back and watched the sky fade across a spectrum of colours, because what did it take, what did it take for Kat to panic.

Because Gerard had always felt that Kat never thought fully of him: as a person who could never do anything without assistance, and could never possibly successfully accomplish something as severe and world shattering as killing himself.

And this was Gerard proving them wrong, because Kat thought they knew Gerard, but they didn't at all, they never did.

But this wasn't Gerard holding a grudge, this was just Gerard missing the ocean view and finding a certain dislike in the way that things had to be, because maybe he should have hidden that draw, but maybe Kat shouldn't have looked through his stuff in the first place.

Maybe he should have realised that it hadn't rain earlier, but there was nothing he could do about that now, and there was most certainly nothing he wanted to do about that.

Because this was the end: the end in a sunset, the end in a sunrise, the end in days to be spent alone, but the end in hours of solitude that could only be put to the use of creating perfection: an elusive kind of perfection captured in blue ink upon lined paper, as the last words, as the last will, as all that remained of the boy that burned down, the boy that reached the end of the race.

-

Kat could fix this.

They knew they could.

Or at least they knew that they had to keep telling themself that, because what could come of intention without hope - what could come of a world in which giving up was the first port of call?

Because Kat did know Gerard; they didn't know exactly what he was thinking and essentially what he planned to do, but they had a solid grip on his patterns and general ways of thinking, because Gerard had been their brother for all sixteen years of their life and this panic and this mess didn't overwrite that.

Perhaps the logical thing was to tell their mother that Gerard was missing and was most likely in trouble, and had stopped taking his meds long ago, but circumstantially, it was perhaps the worst thing Kat could do, because their mother would approach this with a big panic and get the police and get a search team and that wouldn't do anything, because Gerard didn't want to come back, and Gerard would only come back if he wanted to, and Gerard would only talk and Gerard would only explain if he wanted to.

He did indeed hold so much power over the people who cared for him deeply, because he was unpredictable beyond repeated characteristics; he had habits and patterns, but beyond them, the world from his view lay in disarray and stormy skies and voices that changed pitch several times a sentence, and Kat needed to make sense of this all.

They knew Gerard wouldn't go far; he had a certain anxiety associated with leaving the town, and Kat even knew that Gerard grew uncomfortable the further away he was from the sea - the seventeen year old found comfort in it, and of course, Kat's first place to look was the beach, the cliffs, fuck the entire coast, and then the streets around the neighbourhood, the church, and the park, and with Frank's assistance the two had covered their neighbourhood yet found no sign of Gerard at all.

So he simply had to be on the other side of town, hidden out there alone, because Gerard didn't know people, he didn't have close relationships beyond Kat and Frank, and Kat found as much horror in that as they did reassurance, because they lived in a small town with not many places to hide, but as the places became fewer and fewer Kat began to wonder if they had Gerard down wrong from the start.

Because maybe such anxieties were irrelevant in the face of whatever issue was at hand that rendered Gerard stressed or threatened or uncomfortable in their presence, because maybe Gerard would much rather put himself through hell than sit down with either of them and talk through the things that mattered.

Because Gerard didn't like talking, and that was easily the death of him.

Kat didn't like to fathom as how he could possibly keep so much locked up in his own head, but they had to, because it came down to this and it came down to a note in black ink: messy and scrawled, a note Kat looked over with confusion, and Frank looked over with sorrow yet relief, because this backed up that Gerard hadn't been lying to him about not trying to kill himself, which was relief at least.

Because Frank saw suicidal tendencies in notes comprised of blue ink and neater handwriting, and not this black messy scrawl that he fixed in his mind as Gerard's handwriting, therefore making it improbable that he could have written the notes that had haunted Frank's mind for so much of the month prior.

And that was relief: relief in naivety and being mistaken, but relief nonetheless, and it was perhaps relief that would let this all spiral out of control, and simply Frank's overbearing desire to think of Gerard as safe and okay and just having issues that would bear a less permanent weight upon his life and the lives of those around him, because Frank didn't want to accept that Gerard might be suicidal, and it was easier this way, to see that relief, so Gerard as having run away from talking about things, because he was nervous, and not because he feared it all coming to an end.

And subconsciously, Frank too feared November 1st as the day held a certain loaming omnipresence, because even as he had himself convinced that Gerard would not kill himself that day, someone else would; the town would lose a life, and come November 2nd there'd be a headline, and perhaps come a week later there'd be a funeral, and perhaps people crying at school, perhaps a talk on depression and suicide, because they never wanted to talk about these things unless they absolutely had to.

And perhaps that was why Frank failed to see the signs, and perhaps it was also why Frank persisted in his relief and naivety and sense of hope in hopeless and clutched onto false stories he concocted inside his own head and truths carefully twisted so they bore the appearance of lies.

Perhaps that was why they had failed to find him, and perhaps that was why the two sat on the beach that night in silence, in patience, in hope, in ignorance, in bliss, in a falsified relief, in words held behind tongues, and in limbo: in the state of knowing what was to come, just out of the corner of your mind, but unable to fixate upon it and accept it, but in time, in only days, it would bear the weight of the whole world, and the sole truth all along.

Because come November 2nd they would know how they had always known yet done nothing, because acceptance was a leap between cliff faces that they couldn't bring themselves to risk, and here they sat, useless, trying, but only trying enough to say they had.

And sure they cared, but they cared like hell, but they lacked the reality and Gerard lacked the words, and the tide rolled in again and out again several times before Kat found themself leaning into Frank's shoulder and closing their eyes.

And across town, away from the ocean, away from the tide, sat a boy, scared, yet not fearful, euphoric, but not content, breathing, but not really living, and thankful yet so fucking sorry.

"It's going to be okay, isn't it?" Kat's voice came out muffled and quiet, catching Frank by surprise, who was beginning to suspect that they were falling asleep.

Frank paused for a moment, finding himself stumped when it came to responding, because realistically, he couldn't promise a thing; he couldn't tell a fucking thing whether it was going to be okay or not and indeed as to what even defined okay, because again that was so fucking loose, but more than anything he just wanted it all to be okay, and he reckoned that voicing anything on the contrary would make it real, and would mean he'd have to think and worry about it, because the ideal was finding Gerard, and they had to- they  _ would _ find Gerard because it was a small town and Gerard would need to come back soon, to fucking eat at least, and Frank knew that Gerard needed to be by the ocean and, hey, maybe tomorrow Gerard would be back in his bedroom and everything would be fine.

Fuck, maybe Frank should have fucking thought before making Gerard talk about things, because that was what it had to be here; he was uncomfortable, he was scared, and to a great degree, it was Frank's fault, and Frank just needed for him to come back, or for him to find him in order for him to apologise.

"Don't answer that if you're going to tell me that it's not," Kat said after a moment of silence: having felt the hesitance that weighed like smoke upon the air: making everything hazy and rendering it harder to breathe. "Because I  _ can't _ hear that. There's hope though, isn't there?"

"I think there has to be." Frank added after a moment, "I think he has to come back, back here to the sea, at least, it's like he has to be by the sea, isn't it?"

"Yeah... it is." Kat sat up a little, "yeah, he has to come back here, so maybe one of us should stay here tomorrow while the other goes out and looks for him, and maybe we'll find him, and if-... if we... don't... then we..." They seemed to find themself unable to continue.

"Then we have to tell someone, don't we?" Frank suggested, "your mum's going to notice Gerard's disappearance anyway, isn't she?"

Kat shrugged, "she's not that good of a fucking mum-"

"Still she cares about him. Still she'd want to know, and still she'd be able to help?"

"She doesn't know shit about him- she can't-" Kat exclaimed, quickly growing angry because, fuck, in a situation like this, he needed  _ someone _ to direct his anger at, "she doesn't know shit."

"None of us really know Gerard, though, because did we see this coming? No." Frank let out a sigh, "look, you have to tell her-"

"No-"

"If we don't find him tomorrow, okay? But I think he might just come back and that maybe he just needed some space-"

"And that note?"

"I don't know. It was like poetry - all dramatised and that... it wasn't like a confessional piece, it was cryptic, wasn't it? Like he wanted us to worry and fuss over him and try to find him and he'd only want us to do that if he wanted us to find him and bring him back home!" Frank exclaimed, suddenly lighting up with hope.

"Yeah," Kat nodded, "I don't understand him but I think... I think yeah, I think you're right, I think everything might just be okay."

And that was easily the first real smile Kat'd had in days.

-


	30. Tuesday, October 30th

In time, Gerard became doubtful of his actions and choices, because there was a certain loneliness encompassed in a field alone at the other side of town, and indeed, a certain loneliness in your own company, because perhaps Gerard did need people more than he could care to admit.

Gerard did indeed envision himself skewed and distorted into the person he expected of himself, added with a few aspects of the person he wanted to be, and indeed the impact he made upon others, but in truth, the real Gerard Way was so much more than that.

The real Gerard Way was so much more than could be defined by a single date in November, because a life was defined not by its ending or its beginning but by the middle, by the years in which there were smiles and the years in which there not, by the years in which there were nothing but tears and sadness, but his life would lay at the midpoint, as an average, halted and bolted in place by a great grey slab of rock in the ground, but never defined by it.

Gerard, however, sometimes found himself wishing to be defined by such a simple thing, by a granite slab: ornate and detailing only his full name and the duration of his life: laying him down as little more than a statistic, as little more than just another person who might be soon forgotten.

Because, in a way, Gerard was not just himself, but everyone before him until the beginning, because he would not be sat in a field on a Tuesday morning on the outskirts of town, and in truth, he felt as if he had to some degree let down these people that never knew him and never would, for he would never live on, and they would never live on together with him in his children, because Gerard was going to be dead within forty eight hours and the reality of that felt like broken glass on bare skin.

And he would be lying if he dared to say that he wasn't scared.

He wasn't scared of letting the world down, though, he wasn't scared of letting himself down, though, just scared of the moment, and having accepted every moment as past, because there were only a certain number of thoughts you could have in a forty eight hour period, and indeed only a certain number of feelings you could experience, and Gerard wasn't sure if he wanted to die having experienced only the heart wrenching despair slumped in the corner of a field: tired, and hungry, and covered in dirt.

He had, however, finished the letters in full, and in forty eight hours they would indeed be his final testament, so they counted for more than sleep or food, which would be meaningless in so little time.

And Gerard couldn't deny the slightest uneasiness that conjured within him, because he couldn't deny that he was much than blue ink and six pages of words that would be all that was left, because if his life was a book, those six pages of letters would be the epilogue, and in truth, Gerard had so many questions and not enough space for them, and not enough sense in his in order to comprehend them, because what the fuck did it sound like to die?

Gerard had always found himself uncomfortable with silence, and suddenly found himself overwhelmed with an immediate distaste for an eternal silence, but it was of course an eternal silence that would occur without him noticing, and in turn, meant little at all, but now he stood with forty eight hours left, and-

He wondered what it would be like.

He wondered what he could possibly think of in those last few moments, in walking into that lake and just letting the water pull itself in around him; he even considered going to the ocean, even though he knew that was where people would look for him, even though there was a lovely view of the shore from his bedroom window; he just wanted to disappear, to fade out, and he felt that it wasn't really the same when people watched you do so.

But he wondered what it would be like to have water turn to hell around you: pouring through out you and down your throat: into your stomach and into your lungs, until we're nothing but water, and you were nothing but the lake around you, and indeed, you were nothing.

And he cursed himself for looking like shit, because perhaps he should at least try to make a pretty picture for the front page of the local newspaper, because that was all that was destined of him beyond those few pages, and it was quite the epitome of a lacklustre, depressing destiny, but it was quite the perfect fit for the epitome of a lacklustre, depressing life.

And Gerard was sorry, and part of him wanted just to go, just to go and sit on the beach and talk, and talk nonsense and bullshit to Kat and Frank for the new forty eight hours, and a part of him wanted to got to Frank's birthday party and fucking drink himself into a wreck, to have fun, to lose everything, and to have one night in which to smile before everything went so fucking wrong, but Gerard knew there was something fucked up in leaving your boyfriend's birthday party early in the morning to kill yourself.

And Gerard did wonder what his last words would be, and what they could possibly be, because they were the last sounds he would ever make himself, and yet that felt like too much, and suddenly words held heavy in his mouth, and he wondered if he'd simply not speak for the next two days, and he could only indeed wonder what his last words would be then.

The last time he'd spoken aloud had been to Frank: nearly two days ago now, as he'd let go of everything and Frank had tried to help and he'd only thrown back the most poetic form of fuck off in his face.

For perhaps his last words might be, 'I'm depressed, but you can't help me with that, because it's inside my head: it's internal and you're external,' and in truth, that made quite the statement.

-

Frank found the world to consist of trees and fields and a part of town he was so fucking unfamiliar with, and indeed doubted that he'd ever be able to visit again, because it was no longer just a series of long back roads and wooded rural areas but a place he had visited in search of Gerard, with his mind focused on this beautiful boy who'd gotten so lost in himself that Frank honestly didn't know what he could do to help, and indeed the thing was that Frank had to do something to help, did he not? Because this certainly didn't look like a hole Gerard would be climbing out of at all, especially not without Frank's help.

And Frank was rendering Gerard helpless in the fact that he was indeed hopeless, and there was little they could do in terms of fixing such a dilemma as roads remained empty and Frank's feet grew waring and as trees only grew denser in woodland thicker and much less inhabited: finding himself really in the middle of nowhere and yet only a twenty minute walk away from the center of town, but it was indeed a small town, and the thing with a small town was that you knew everyone and everything, but when you thought you knew everything you knew nothing at all.

And that became obvious in the way Frank didn't know the woodland, and he found himself not sure if he even knew Gerard at all.

He instead felt sounds of the ocean in his mind: crashing waves and seagulls - a whole world up there in his head: a world of peace, a world in which his boyfriend hadn't been missing with leaving little more than a cryptic kind of nonsensical note.

Frank ran his fingers down his opposite arm as he continued to walk down the empty road: finding himself picking absent mindedly at a spot upon his arm as a simple distraction: as any kind of distraction, because his head was beginning to pound and all there lay around him was trees and more fucking trees and soon enough he was going to find himself lost out here, and that'd be fucking wonderful for Kat having him and Gerard lost, although it seemed Gerard had perhaps gotten himself much more purposefully lost, or lost emotionally more than physically.

Indeed, Frank had absolutely no idea what to say if he did indeed somehow encounter Gerard, which he came to realise was quite the dilemma, because he didn't doubt that Gerard might just run away from him or run away again or do some fucking stupid, and the whole situation was just making Frank's head fucking pound, and he just wished it was simple, and he just wished that Gerard possessed the ability to react like a normal human being and talk about things.

Frank cursed to himself; the normal human being comment was harsh, and the last thing anyone needed at this point - he was just frustrated, and he wanted answers - he wanted things set out straight, because his headache was only worsening to the point where he considered turning back and declaring that Gerard couldn't possibly be up here somewhere, of course, until the path forked slightly and gave way to a vast open field.

And amidst the grass and trees, curled up against a wall at the far end was a person, and from what Frank could tell, a boy. A teenage boy with long black hair and a notepad at his feet: wearing a black hoodie and dark jeans, which looked suspiciously like Gerard's clothes, and all in all, the figure looked suspiciously like Gerard.

At first, it didn't quite sink in, and in truth, Frank was brushing it over, as oh just someone that looks a bit like Gerard, how fucking funny of the universe, and then... and then, well his heart kind of stopped beating for a good few seconds, before his stomach did something like a backflip and he broke out into a run because holy fuck that was Gerard.

Gerard came to notice the presence of someone else by the time it was too late: by the time Frank was within ten metres of him, and indeed sprinting across the field, and Gerard didn't know what the fuck to do, and indeed found himself somewhat frozen with his back pressed up against the wall, hoping that somehow he might just vanish into thin air.

But he didn't; Gerard remained very much and very much real, but the air fell into what was very much silence around them, as Frank's heart thudded in his chest: finding himself stood just before Gerard without a clue as to what to do, or what to say, because this was all so sudden, and he was so fucking thankful to have found him, but there had indeed been this part at the back of his mind that had reckoned that they never would have, or that Gerard would be the one to come back.

But Frank stood there: wrong and shaking all over.

"I love you." He let the only thing he knew fall from his lips: locking eyes with Gerard, "I fucking- I'm in love with you, Gerard, and I mean that so much, more than I've meant anything ever, and I just- I just want to understand. Please let me understand."

Frank found time in Gerard's wide eyed silence to sit down beside him: back also against the wall, and letting a smile cross his face as Gerard leaned into him slightly, because if the action was only subsconscious, it certainly meant the world regardless.

"I love you." He found himself repeating into the silence: his tone shaking and slightly breathy this time, and he reached for Gerard's hand: squeezing it slightly, because he was there, and he was real, and fuck, fuck, fuck, but god, why could he never just say anything of value?

"I'm tired." Gerard muttered after a moment, resting his head back onto Frank's shoulder and exhaling slightly, as his eyelids fluttered closed, and in truth, Frank didn't want him to sleep, fuck Frank needed him to talk, but for that moment, he was just content that nothing could take Gerard away from him.

Frank wondered what could possibly come of the mess they found themselves in, and found himself spending an awfully large amount of time just sat there with Gerard curled up next to him and the sun traversing the skies around them, as they sat there seemingly disconnected from the rest of the world in their own little corner of everything in a field in the middle of nowhere, in a place that Frank wasn't even sure the way back from.

Back.

Frank had found himself having forgotten about world outside this one field, about the town, about the journey up, about the past two days, about Kat who was still down very worrying and fussing over Gerard, wondering if he was in trouble, and Frank knew - knew that everything was fine, and that Gerard was safe in his arms, but he had neglected to inform Kat of such a fact.

And as Frank became very aware of such a fact, he became just as aware of the fact that he was perhaps more okay with the nothingness than he should have been: content in the silence and just feeling Gerard in his arms, and content in Kat and the rest of the town seemingly worlds away.

"Gerard..." He began: his voice quiet, and nervous, and he wondered if there was even much of a point in expecting a response from Gerard today, because Gerard was awfully good at being awfully quiet when he wanted to be. "You don't have to say anything if you don't want," he continued, biting his lip slightly, "uhh... I just... are we going to go back? Will you come back home?"

Gerard shook his head, before pulling his gaze away from Frank: succeeding in leaving him more than just that little bit confused, because what could this fucking empty field hold more than his home and the beach, and safety, and people he knew.

"Why not?" Frank found himself asking, and moving his hand over Gerard's: giving it a slight squeeze as he did so,  and feeling Gerard shiver slightly, but he didn't make an effort to move away from him - instead Gerard didn't make of an effort to do anything.

"I don't see the point," he did however manage to say after a moment.

"For me? For  _ Kat _ ? For the both of us who have been worried sick for the past two days? Please, it matters so much - of course there's a point!"

"You're only going to get upset."

"I don't  _ care _ , Gerard, I don't care- make me as fucking upset as you want, fuck ruin my life, Gerard, just please come home,  _ please _ ."

And Gerard just wondered if Frank would be saying that so easily if he really knew what would have to happen in less than forty eight hours, but still, he appreciated the sentiment, and for that, he found it within him to get to his feet and let Frank take him back home - for one last night.

-

  
  



	31. Wednesday, October 31st

Gerard wasn't entirely sure why he had listened to Frank, perhaps it was simply something about how guilty he felt knowing that Frank sat by him: uttering unaware that he'd be gone in less than forty eight hours, and indeed in less than twenty four now, for it was October 31st, and somehow, it didn't quite feel  _ real _ .

But he had listened to Frank, and he'd allowed him to drag him home, and he'd watched Kat's face light up in a concoction of shock and delight, and he'd watched as Kat narrowly resisted the urge to utterly disrespect his personal space and pull him into a hug right then and right there, but the three of them had just stood in an odd kind of captivating silence in the kitchen: as if the world around them had grown to a halt in that very moment, and in all honestly, Gerard just wanted to run, to go and lock himself up in his room: a place he'd sworn to himself that he'd never see again, but the world had a funny way of working, and perhaps he did owe Frank and Kat this at least: one last day, his last day, and he'd attend Frank's party and he'd smile and he'd pretend, and indeed everything would be okay with the simple knowledge of what was to come in the morning.

He'd eventually just walked into his bedroom and locked the door behind him, catching the sounds of badly muffled and suppressed yelling from the kitchen: the voices of Kat and Frank, and the subject none other than Gerard himself, and he wasn't at all surprised, and in truth, he didn't care nearly as much as he should have done. He sat there, in his room and let them argue, let the world fall into chaos around him, because here he was, and his death was very much a fixed point and drawing closer and closer by the minute, and everyone lay so naive and unaware.

And Gerard was sorry, but not sorry enough: only sorry because he felt compelled to be so, not sorry because there might have ever been an ounce of regret within him. And in the most blatant truth, Gerard wasn't really sorry at all. And that was okay, because no one would ever have to know.

Come the morning of the 31st: the final day in October, the final day of his final month: a simple twenty four hour countdown, and indeed a means to an end, Gerard sat on bed his bed at nine in the morning, having surprised himself by getting a good eight hours sleep that night, but in truth, he had found himself to be awfully tired yesterday, as there was something about wasting away in the middle of nowhere that was indeed nowhere near as appealing as letting his home fade away around him, as he looked out onto the ocean and found comfort in every single shade of blue he saw.

Gerard was content and perfectly ready for what was to come; he'd found that Kat had finally emptied his draw of pills, but that wasn't an issue, it wasn't an issue at all, in fact, in the odd sense of euphoria that Gerard found taking over his final day,  _ nothing _ seemed to matter at all.

He had his letters: completed and fine tuned finally, and he had the picture of himself: a picture he'd taken up by a tree upon the hill, and a message scrawled upon the bottom of the polaroid in black marker pen: 'October, G.W. - 'The End'. He glanced over his darkened hazel eyes, and his hair: dark and strewn across his face messily, and the way the colour had almost been drawn completely from his cheeks, and to some degree, he did indeed look dead in that state.

And most importantly, he had Frank's birthday gift, which was perhaps not something Frank might have expected out of his emotionally drained wreck of a boyfriend- Gerard stopped his train of thought to ponder the fact that Frank wouldn't have a boyfriend come tomorrow-... to produce, yet Gerard had laboured over an A5 sized painting of the sea, upon which two black silhouettes stood by the shore, and Gerard knew as he'd created it, that this was what Frank had, and this was what Frank would treasure and remember him by, and somehow, suddenly, his art held worth and impact and meaning to the world, and indeed a part of him wished that it just didn't have to be this way.

Gerard continued to sit in silence as he came to conclude that in a very short amount of time, not only would Frank no longer have a boyfriend, but Kat would no longer have a brother, and his mother would no longer have a son... and his father... hell, he wondered if his father would finally give one single shit, because in truth, a hell of a lot had happened in the space of one October.

He found himself thinking back to the start, back to when there were four people living in this house, back to where there wasn't soon to be two, back to when his father meant the world and cared so much, and his mother yelled, and Kat was called Mikey, and everything was different.

Gerard soon came to realise that he'd bitten his lip hard enough to draw blood; he cursed slightly, and got up, out of bed and wiped his face: bracing himself as he met his reflection in the mirror for what would easily be the final time, and in turn, Gerard found himself fixated upon the last time for everything, because there'd be so many lasts for him today, and therefore, every moment held some significance, and indeed his heart began to beat with a little more meaning.

Because it was becoming apparent that he was only capable of finding worth in something as it was slipping right through his fingertips. Regardless of the hope of worth, however, he let it slip, and let everything go, because it wasn't worth enough - it could never be so.

-

Gerard made it out of his bedroom and down the hallway, and into the kitchen by twenty minutes past ten that morning, and indeed found himself just a little shocked to see not only Kat stood by the countertop, but Frank, also: both of them turned their heads in his direction as he made it into the room, and in consequence, Gerard made a specific effort to avoid eye contact with either of them, and simply made his way over to the cupboard and poured himself a glass of water.

From the way Kat and Frank were stood so close together, it was rather apparent that they'd been engaged in some form of conversation before Gerard had walked in, and from the prolonged silence, it was rather apparent that they were rather hesitant to continue it, which left Gerard to assume the likelihood that the subject related to him.

He couldn't find it within himself to give all that much of a fuck, though, and simply finished his glass of water, before grabbing a slice of bread and a plate, before placing the bread into the toaster.

And it was a good three minutes since he'd entered the room, as he was waiting for his bread to be toasted, that the silence that was finally broken.

It was Frank that did it, with a simple, "Gerard?" that had Gerard freezing on the spot, because fuck, he found himself so unprepared for conversation, and especially a conversation that held any kind of importance, as he could only assume this was one was, considering the tone of sincerity that had Frank's voice quavering slightly under its pressure.

The toaster let out a pop to signify that his toast was ready, and Gerard took it from the machine and placed it down on the plate, and buttered it rather half hearted, before finally turning around to face his sibling and his boyfriend. "Yes?"

"So..." Frank let out a deep sigh, glancing across at Kat, who seemed to have seen it coming and made a definite attempt to look sternly at Gerard, and absolutely no one else. "Me and Kat have been talking, and well, we spoke about you, and we're very worried about you, and we think you should... you should- no, you  _ have _ to take your medication."

"And actually do it." Kat added: their tone far less cautious than Frank's, "actually fucking  _ do _ it, Gerard, not just hide everything away, because you can't fucking do that: you can't just fucking hide away from the  _ world _ . Take your medication, right now, whilst we watch."

Gerard shook his head firmly, "I'm not doing that. Not today. Not fucking today."

Frank inhaled sharply and shot Kat a glance: making it evident that perhaps he really wasn't all that keen to deal with the situation at hand.

" _ What _ ?" Kat's eyes widened as they met Frank's gaze and comprehended what had put that look in his eyes. "You're going to agree with him? You're going to  _ let _ him do that? You're going to let him not take his meds? You're going to let him ruin his life? You're going to fucking do that, are you, Frank?"

"Kat, I-" Frank stumbled over his words as he searched for an explanation. Gerard took this as a perfectly good opportunity in which to commence the eating of his slice of toast.

"You think that's a good idea? It's like you're working against me here, you know, how you fucking found him and had done for hours, and thought that it was perfectly fine just to let me worry about him, and start fucking crying, thinking something had seriously happened to him, when you were right there with him and you fucking knew  _ everything _ !" Kat had evidently lost all the chill they'd ever possessed in their life in the space of the last forty eight hours, and Gerard knew that Frank didn't deserve the full force of it.

"It was my fault," He spoke up, looking between Kat and Frank, who were perhaps not quite so accustomed to Gerard volunteering information and speech casually, and indeed, it wasn't particularly characteristic of him, but this was his last fucking day alive, and nothing that had once meant anything seemed to matter, and everything that had always meant nothing, meant the world. "I asked him to just stay with me for a while, just us there and not go back or tell you, yet." Kat's eyes widened slightly: partly unable to process just what Gerard was telling them. "I'm sorry, I just- I was scared. I still am scared, because you're both all expectations, and okay, maybe I'm not okay, but I.. I  _ can't _ take  _ those _ pills - they make everything  _ worse _ !"

Kat appeared to be pondering his words for a good few moments, whilst Frank spoke up: his voice perhaps even more nervous than it had been before. "Couldn't he try some different pills? Like he gets a different prescription?"

Kat nodded, looking up at Gerard and meeting his eyes with intent, "so if we go and ask for an alternative prescription in like in a few days time or something, you  _ promise _ you'll take those and at least try them out?"

Gerard let a small fall over his lips and nodded, because holy fuck, he could promise the world to everyone, as long as he had to hand it over in a few days time, because in a few days time, there'd be nothing left of him to give, and Gerard felt as if he owed it to himself to play on their naivety, because he struggled to think better of himself, when he cared so little in regards to what the world could assume of him in his last few hours, because everything was so fucking temporary and  _ nothing _ mattered. 

"I promise."

And in that moment, at half past ten on October the 31st, it was all smiles in the Way household, but they were indeed smiles that would not last.

-

Kat had been hesitant at first, but both Frank and Gerard had ensured them that everything would be fine, and that they could survive without their presence for a few hours, and that had left Kat only more hesitant, of course, because Kat was all suspicion and over worrying until the world split in two, and in truth, Frank saying he'd look after Gerard meant just as little to Kat as it meant to Gerard, who was planning to kill himself in the morning, but still, Kat had let Gerard and Frank convince them, because they did want to wish this all away.

As for the past few days, it was like their every single thought was comprised of a crippling worry relating to Gerard and/or Frank, and/or their relationship, which was something that Kat had only just gotten accustomed to at this point, and they needed a break, and to top it all off, they'd hardly spoken to Pete over the past few days as a result of the mess, and that really wasn't helping matters at all.

So Kat had thrown common sense and hesitance out of the window in favour of themself and their boyfriend, because they could be selfish, sure as hell they could, and sure as hell, they would, even if just once, even when it didn't appear to selfish to anyone else, because everyone else lived blind to the mess that was unfolding around them, because the thing was, Kat wasn't sure as to how, or even why, but they had this odd sense that something just wasn't quite off, and that it was also a very big and very  _ important _ something, and this coupled by the obvious nonchalance and casual tones in Frank and Gerard's conversation left them tearing themself into pieces, because it was becoming awfully clear that there was nothing they could to do to either dull or justify this sensation.

And so, they found themself, after a ten minute walk through town, at Pete Wentz' doorstep, and as they rang the doorbell, they found themself contemplating every time they'd been here: unexpected, waiting out in a slight drizzle, and how every other time it had been after a fuck up or a fight with someone else, or a need to get away from the world, and how Kat had always viewed Pete as some form of safety net, who'd always be there to catch them, and how that had been so wrong of them, because Pete was a fucking  _ person _ \- and... and it wasn't like that this time.

Kat swore it wasn't like that this time.

And they didn't have quite long enough to come down to questioning the credibility of their prior statement before the door opened, to reveal a rather sleepy looking Pete Wentz stood in the doorway: dark hair sticking up at all angles, and wearing nothing more than an oversized grey hoodie.

Kat let out a small chuckle, "it's like eleven, Pete, you should have been out of bed already." They made their way inside and left Pete to yawn and stretch as he closed the door behind them.

"If I don't  _ have _ to be out of bed, I'm not  _ going _ to be out of bed," Pete let a lazy kind of smile fall across his features as he followed Kat into the living room, where they'd sat down with their legs curled up to their chest on the rather questionable, mustard coloured sofa. "You, though,  _ this _ , though. This is a nice surprise. I've missed seeing you so much."

Kat nodded, "mmm..." They watched as Pete sat down beside them, leaning into their shoulder slightly, in a way that made Kat's arm ache, but they weren't at all inclined to ask Pete to stop or move at all, because this was it: this was the escape, this was the happiness, this was the fuzzy feeling in his chest that multiplied too fast and took over the whole world. "Me too."

"Is everything okay now?" Pete asked: having been vaguely informed via text message of the whole situation concerning Gerard, but in no degree of detail. 

Kat shook their head, because if there was anything they had learned, it was that there was no point in lying to Pete Wentz, not anymore; they'd made that mistake too many fucking times. "He's back but... it's not right. There's like this unsettling feeling, like fucking unavoidable, overwhelming feeling of dread that is crushing everything inside of me, just fucking screaming at me that something's not right, but never screaming what or how to fix it or what the fuck to do, and it's no help, and it just leaves me paranoid and in a wreck, and-"

"Hey... hey... hey..." Pete reached for Kat's hand, giving it a squeeze and allowing them to breathe for a few moments. "It could be nothing, you know?"

"Doesn't fucking feel like nothing." Kat snapped before their could stop themself, then glancing up at Pete a moment later with a timid, apologetic expression.

"It's okay," Pete mumbled slightly, leaning closer and pressing a kiss to Kat's forehead, "it's all okay. Hey, I promise you, things will be okay. It's my friend Frank's birthday party today- we could go to that-"

Kat looked up at Pete oddly, "it's  _ my _ friend Frank's birthday today. I'm  _ already _ going to that."

Pete let out an awkward kind of laugh, "do you think maybe we have the same friend called Frank?"

"Maybe," Kat offered with an awkward shrug, "Frank Iero? Short, bit of a fuckboy, naive as fuck but means well, dark hair, emo as shit-"

"Yeah, yeah, Frank Iero." Pete nodded, smiling, "that's a pretty accurate description you got there, do you know him well? He's one of my best friends, we're in most of the same classes at school."

"He's not so much of  _ my _ friend, but he is my  _ friend _ , I mean, well I met him first, about at the start of this month, and he let me stay at his place overnight after this argument, and well we became friends, and he accepted my gender really well, so that really meant alot to me, and then, well, then it turns out... well... he's more of Gerard's friend, he's like Gerard's only friend,  _ best friend _ , and then they started dating, but yeah... I know Frank Iero."

"They started  _ dating _ ?" Pete exclaimed: eyes wide, "I didn't know he was gay- wait, what I-"

" _ Fuck _ ..." Kat cursed, rolling their eyes slightly, "okay, I didn't say anything, okay?"

"Yeah," Pete nodded, "I mean, I don't mind, course I don't mind, but well... wow, I thought he would have  _ mentioned _ it?"

"Well, did you ever mention anything about your sexuality?" Kat asked, eyebrows raised slightly.

"Well..." Pete trailed off, " _ no _ , but... I mean..."

"There you go." Kat smiled slightly, leaning into Pete's side, " _ there you go." _

_ " _ So we're going to this party then?" Pete continued to ask, running a hand back through his hair.

"Yeah, I mean, I've got to keep an eye on Gerard." Kat explained, sighing slightly. "I mean, Frank says he can, but... he just... it's... so... it's just... he doesn't fucking know what he's doing. He thinks Gerard entirely lacks the capability to lie about anything, and the moment Gerard looks at him, he fucking melts and lets him do whatever he wants and ruin his own life. He's just not responsible."

"He's sixteen- well,  _ seventeen _ now. He's not an adult, he's not supposed to be responsible. He's just supposed to be a good boyfriend, isn't he? And Gerard is seventeen too, he can look after himself to an extent, can't he? Don't kill me for saying this, but I don't think you should baby him so much. Would you act the same if he wasn't autistic? Just because he's got-"

"It's not the fucking autism, Pete, that's fucking nothing to do with anything, it's the fucking fact that he's depressed and unpredictable and never opens up or says anything, and will openly lie- and  _ fuck _ , it's the fact he kept a drawer full of hundreds of pills in his bedroom for months and months without anyone knowing, and it's the fact that those were the pills he was supposed to be taking, and it's the fact that Frank doesn't seem to care so much about the implications of that, like he can't even imagine them."

Pete was very silent for quite a while after that, and in truth, Kat couldn't bring themself to blame him. "I'm sorry, I just want you to be happy. I hate that you have to spend so much time worrying about him."

"I hate it too." Kat continued, before they could stop themself. "No, I don't mean that. I don't mean it- I-"

"Hating worrying about him isn't the same thing as hating him or blaming him." Pete reminded them.

Kat nodded, "I know, I still... I just... I can't say that. I  _ can't _ ."

-

Gerard and Frank had taken to sitting in Gerard's room once Kat had left for Pete's house, and throughout the course of a good twenty minutes, the pair had said very little, and had indeed just resorted to sitting curled up in bed together.

"Happy birthday." Gerard finally said, once the two had found themselves comfortable in the process of time passing generally around them like the wind, and passing them by as if they resided only in their own little bubble.

Frank stared blankly at Gerard for quite a few moments before actually managing to process that despite all this mess, Gerard was indeed right, and it was indeed his birthday. "Oh... shit... yeah... thank you." He paused for a moment: taking in the fact that here he was: seventeen years old and he'd barely even given it an ounce of thought amidst all of this. "I am, aren't I? I kind of forgot..." He let out an awkward kind of half laugh, and Gerard offered him a small smile in response before getting up off the bed and walking over to his desk, opening a few drawers before pulling out an A5 sized piece of paper and holding it up so only he could see for a few moments, before letting out a sigh.

"It's not..." He stumbled over his own words: unable to quite look Frank in the eyes, "I made you this, but it's not very good, but happy birthday..." He let out an awkward sigh as he held it out to Frank.

Frank's eyes widened slightly as he held the painting in his hands: breath escaping him in a startled gasp, "oh my god...  _ Gerard _ , this is fantastic... this is  _ amazing _ ... this is  _ beautiful _ ..." He stumbled over his own words as his eyes scanned over the piece: desperate to take in every aspect of the painting Gerard had made for him, because in truth, he hadn't been expecting anything at all, but before him lay an ocean scene, complete with two figures holding hands by the shore.

Gerard blushed slightly as he sat down beside Frank, looking over his shoulder at his own work: it taking everything he had not to spew out his hatred and point out every flaw and imperfection that was highlighted in red: screaming loudly at him as he scoured the piece.

"That's..." Gerard trailed off, attempting to say something:  _ anything _ , as he suddenly felt it expected of him. "That's us." He reached out and pointed to the two figures by the shore, "me and you. I didn't know if I was going to add us, but I... I thought I should, because I don't want this to be any ocean, I want this to be  _ our _ ocean,  _ our _ shore,  _ our  _ painting,  _ our _ skyline,  _ our _ moments."

And in truth, Frank had to struggle not to cry as he pulled Gerard into a hug, and choked out a breathy kind of, "I love you," into his chest.

Gerard held him there: silent and still, and Frank was perhaps too fixated upon the gift to take note of the lack of response upon Gerard's part.

-

Gerard had never been one for parties, but indeed Gerard had never been one for living and smiling, but somehow he'd managed the both of them for far too long, and as his final night, and Frank's birthday, he felt as if he owed this to him somehow.

Of course, Gerard didn't owe anybody anything, he just felt like he should, because he understood that people cared about him - that had never been the issue, he just didn't want to live and grow old and keep his head in check, and somehow it had kind of gotten to the point where he'd been stuck in this odd depressive state for so long that he had difficulty in recalling what had caused this all in the first place, but that didn't matter: nothing mattered as he continued to find himself awfully content in the end of everything.

Gerard had found certain anxieties within the prospect of the night before him, but he'd brushed them aside, as he'd made his way over to the corner of the living room and sat down cross legged as he listened to the sounds of Frank inviting people in, because he just had to be here, he just had to pull off happiness and recovery for one final night, and then everything could fall into pieces: pieces that had been carefully planned to fall into place.

Gerard found himself getting lost in the scenery and the colours of Frank's house and how it seemed to  _ feel _ different with people in it, to the extent that he found himself dissociating completely, until he found a familiar presence by his side: a presence in the form of none other than Frank himself: reaching out his hand and pulling him up to his feet.

"Are you alright?" Frank offered him a concerned sort of half smile as Gerard let Frank pull him to his feet: having resided to just letting the world happen around him for the time being, for there would very soon be a time when he no longer had to endure it at all.

"Yeah." Gerard offered him an awkward half hearted smile, allowing Frank to take his hand and lead him across the room, to where a small group of people, who Gerard assumed to be Frank's friend's had gathered.

"Hey..." Frank coughed slightly: grabbing the attention of the group with an odd kind of blush upon his face, leaving Gerard standing there, looking around at the group, and finding himself recognising Lindsey immediately: who offered him a small smile. "So, I have something to say, well, this is Gerard, and he's my boyfriend."

And from the importance held in Frank's words, and the way it was evident that he'd been building the confidence to say that for a while hit hard in Gerard's chest, because come twelve hours time and he needn't have bothered, because sure, Gerard was his boyfriend now, but there'd be no Gerard left very soon, and everyone in the room lived oblivious to that, and Gerard couldn't deny that he fucking  _ loved _ it.

"Oh..." Came an undefinable, yet vaguely positive kind of response from a boy with a mass of brown curly hair. "Nice to meet you, Gerard," he turned to Gerard, who immediately felt sick in the abundance of attention upon him.

Gerard gave him an awkward kind of stiff nod, before glancing around the group of people, and speaking mostly to Lindsey, who he found some form of comfort in, as he spoke, "uhh... nice to meet you all."

There was a general consensus of nodding and smiles, and Gerard found relief in Frank loosening his grip on his hand, and allowing him to slip off through the house as Frank continued to converse with his friends.

Gerard found himself making his way upstairs, and into Frank's bedroom: pressing his fist carelessly in the vague direction of the lightswitch and sitting down upon the window sil. He focused upon the darkness outside: upon the world and what he would see of it.

In thirty minutes or so time, he jumped slightly at the sound of the door creaking open, and Frank making his way into the room: his eyes slightly up noticeably at the sight of Gerard. "You're alright," he let out a sigh, "I thought for a moment you'd run off again. I was worried I'd done something."

Gerard only gave a vague nod as Frank sat down beside him on the window sill: not quite daring to consider Frank's position come to tomorrow morning, and how he might think that was his fault too, but this was much bigger than him, and as harsh as it sounded, Frank was nothing in comparison to the way he felt inside.

"So, my friends seem to like you." Frank offered him an awkward kind of smile. "That's some good news. I was fucking terrified, you know?" 

Gerard nodded slowly: trying not to feel too bad, for fear that he might somehow just blurt it all out with less than half a day to go. "If they didn't like you because of your sexuality, then they shouldn't be your friends."

"Yeah, but it's not that - it's  _ you.  _ I want them to like  _ you:  _ you're important, you matter." Frank continued: utterly oblivious and crushing Gerard's heart with every word.

"You matter." Gerard told him: not quite daring to meet his gaze. "You matter a lot. Promise me, you're going to be okay?"

"What do you mean?" Frank asked: confusion evident upon his face.

Gerard shrugged slightly, "I just don't want you to be sad, you know?"

"I'm gonna be sad sometimes." Frank's face broke into a smile, "I'm only human. But everything's better now, everything's better now I have you."

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Gerard's lips, and Gerard could taste alcohol on his lips, and Gerard let him kiss him even though he didn't really want him to, because it was drawing close to midnight on October 31st, and Frank was smiling.

Frank was smiling into the kiss, and Gerard just let everything happen.

Gerard closed his eyes and let the world happen around him.

Only to have them flicker upon come 23:59, displayed in red numbers on the clock on Frank's bedside table, and in turn, watch those red numbers flicker over onto 0:00.

And like that, the date was November 1st.

-


	32. Thursday, November 1st

Gerard woke up at something around four in the morning.

Gerard woke up for the last time and felt suddenly sick with the realisation that today was the shortest day of his life, and indeed the final one, and how, despite that, he was buzzing all over, and in truth, the coming of nothing, meant everything, and he did indeed wonder just how fucked up he'd managed to become throughout this all.

Gerard got to his feet and stumbled slightly through the darkness of the room: only pulling the curtains open slightly in order to reveal a mere fragment of light from the moonlight sky, but it was enough light to illuminate the outlines of objects in the room, and indeed, the bed, and the figure lying across it, having laid beside Gerard for a few hours prior.

For this was Frank's bedroom, and Frank's bed, and Frank's house, and last night was the last the sleeping boy: beautiful and unaware on the day after his seventeenth birthday, would ever see of him.

And Gerard was so very sorry, but so very certain that there was nothing that could be done anymore. He did however stand in the darkness: heart heavy in his chest as he looked over Frank's sleeping figure: part of him intent upon prolonging walking out quite yet, because  _ this _ , this was the moment it had all be counting down to, and now Gerard was finally living just in the few hours before his death.

It was a clear sky, and would be a beautiful morning, although Gerard would not see it; he wouldn't see morning, he wouldn't see noon, and he wouldn't see sunset, he wouldn't see the sun fall back down to rise again, he wouldn't see tomorrow, he wouldn't see next week, he wouldn't see November, he wouldn't see December, he wouldn't see Christmas, and he wouldn't see the new year.

Instead they'd close his eyes on his body to make everyone else comfortable, because there was something about corpses with opened eyes that people found unsettling, and Gerard would lie there: condemned to darkness and nothingness forever, and  _ god _ , god, he was fucking ready.

As fucked up as it sounded, he was excited.

He was both sorry and excited.

He was feeling  _ something _ , and suddenly everything at once, and in the dark of Frank's room come four in the morning on November 1st, Gerard Way was a fireworks show of colour and feeling, but that was the thing about fireworks: their beauty and worth was temporary - short lived, and after those few seconds they'd crash and burn and fade away, and Gerard found his fate to follow much of the same path.

He found himself somewhat uncomfortable, and indeed guilty without just walking out, because he didn't want Frank to worry, he didn't want him to think of this as his fault, and now, it was far too late to wake him up and slip it in casually to conversation, but Gerard couldn't just  _ leave _ , could he?

It'd leave an odd kind of gaping hole in his chest, and Gerard didn't want to die like that. Yet, within seconds, the solution presented itself within the form of a notepad and a pen.

Gerard ripped a sheet of paper from the notepad and clicked the pen, before scribbling some form of note: not putting too much efforting in concealing his handwriting this time, because what did it matter now? When he was dead, Frank could know everything, because when he was dead, there was nothing Frank could do that would affect him.

_ 'I'm okay. I went out. Nothing's your fault. Love you. I'm sorry. Gerard. _ ' 

Gerard knew the note was hardly much, but Frank had the letter he'd written specifically for him, and Gerard was confident that he'd saved every blue inked draft letter he'd found along the way, and that he'd put this all together.

Gerard could trust in that, as he indeed wondered if there was much pointing in trusting in or indeed considering anything in regards to the time and the way the morning was closing in on itself.

He wanted to stay and watch Frank sleep a while longer, but he remained himself of the fact that Kat was an early riser, and that he most definitely didn't want to be stopped, and with that in mind, he let out a sigh: his body shuddering slightly as he placed the note down on the windowsill.

And before exiting the room, he laid his eyes upon Frank: beautiful as ever, and couldn't quite prevent himself from letting out a half hearted, pathetic kind of, "I'm never going to see you again," in the form of a whisper.

And in his sleep, Frank didn't even stir, because he was naive and would be naive until the very end. But right now, Frank was happy, and that counted for a lot, so Gerard held that to heart as he pulled the bedroom door open with a slight creak.

As he made his way out of the room; he chanced one final glance upon Frank, and caught sight of a ghost of a smile upon his lips, just for a brief moment. And with the click of the door behind Gerard, that was it.

That was it for them.

That was the end.

And Frank would never know what Gerard had whispered in the dark to him at four in the morning, and Frank would never know how he had to look back as he left, but perhaps those were things that Frank should not know if he ever wanted to live his life.

Because that was the thing; Frank had hopes and prospects and a future. Frank would be an adult someday. Frank would have a job, and a family, and Gerard... Gerard would have a pretty looking headstone, and a permanent taste of the ocean.

And although seemingly unfair, Gerard found himself beyond content with that.

He faced the hallway before him, finding it illuminated harshly in yellow tones, which radiated from a light upon the ceiling. As he found himself fixating upon the light, he noticed a small winged creature, a moth, fluttering around it desperately, and in that moment, it was the 13th all over again, and it was an early morning in a bathtub, and how he'd quite not yet managed to die.

But this time would be successful. Gerard had never been more sure in his life, and of course, he hadn't really wanted to die then - he'd just forgotten rational, and how to think straight, and let everything out in a mess of rage and pills and locked doors, and god, he fucking loved water.

He loved water that was too cold, and how your skin burned with ice, and how that was impossible yet so very real at the same time, and then in time, how you grew numb and accustomed towards it over time: losing your sense of temperature in favour of the cold embrace, and how, as you remained, you too lost yourself in it.

Water had this very real and very terrifying power to overwhelm you completely, and for that, Gerard had never been more grateful, because he needed to forget himself; he needed everything to fade away - he needed tones of blue gray stuck permanently in his eyes, because the landing light was too yellow, and there were people in this house that were still awake.

And that moth was so beautiful yet so taunting, very much like Frank.

Because the thing did indeed pull at his heartstrings and pull him a few weeks back, to a time where he'd felt glad for not having died, but Gerard pushed it aside, because it wouldn't be like that this time - it  _ couldn't  _ be like that, and of that, Gerard was so very sure.

The few people still awake in the house weren't of concern to Gerard, as they were very drunk people, and very drunk people were far too drunk to question what he might possibly be doing at four in the morning with such a sombre look in his eyes, and Gerard did indeed value that as the sole time that alcohol had ever held any worth to him throughout his life.

Of course, very drunk people was accompanied by the need to vomit everywhere, which was something Gerard wasn't at all very fond of, and felt instantly rather naseousness himself as he heard the bathroom door click upon and Lindsey Ballato stick her head out. "Frank, is that you because I-" She stopped, her eyes fixating upon Gerard instead, and offering him a small smile, "is he asleep?"

Gerard only noded, watching as Lindsey pulled her hair back from her face and flushed the toilet before stumbling out of the room before pretty much throwing herself to the ground in a vague sort of sitting position in the middle of the hallway.

"I feel fucking sick as fuck. Not good kind of sick either." Lindsey proclaimed: not really talking  _ to _ Gerard, as such, but her eyes were fixated very firmly upon him as she spoke - this left Gerard feeling a little uncomfortable and somewhat obligated to reply, when the matter of conversing with a drunk Lindsey Ballato was really not something he'd planned to do on the early morning of November 1st, but he would never see her again, and his guilty continued to play on him.

Eventually, Gerard sat down beside her: just praying that she'd think to move or at least point her head the other way if she felt the need to be sick again. He reckoned she would, though, because Lindsey was someone he'd decided he liked, and there was always some basis for that.

"Maybe you shouldn't have drank so much?" Gerard found himself suggesting what was easily the most pathetic thing to say to drunk person at four in the morning on the day he planned to kill himself.

Lindsey shrugged slightly, "too late for that now. Anyway, me and Pete got into this drinking game - that was a  _ bad _ idea. Fuck Pete, because who the fuck can sleep when they're this drunk? I fucking can't because I always feel fucking sick, and then he's passed out with fucking Kat, and I am here, and we are here, and my head fucking  _ hurts _ , and I wish I knew you better because you're my best friend's boyfriend but I hardly know you at all, but you're quiet and shy but you're nice, and it's okay, because I will get to know you better just when I'm not so fucking drunk, I think."

Gerard felt his whole body tightening somewhat, because that was the thing: Lindsey  _ wouldn't _ get to know him better, but it wasn't like he could just tell her that, so instead, he smiled and nodded along and pretended everything was fine, because that was the only thing he knew how to do properly.

"He fucking loves you." She continued, laughing slightly, "he's such a git. Fucking asleep what a git. Anyway I think I puked so much that I broke his toilet, so he fucking deserves it for being a git. Love him though, he's a fucking loveable git, isn't he? You would know, obviously - the  _ expert _ . Fucking loverboy. You are so pretty though, I can see why he likes you: you're all pretty and awkward but prettily awkward and kind of messy but it just... you're like this fucking marble statue in a museum up on a plinth and you don't let anyone touch you or get close, and we're all just looking and wanting to know more because you're beautiful and mysterious, and he knows because he's the kid that snuck into the museum at night when no one else was there just to climb over the barrier and touch the statue."

Gerard looked at Lindsey for a rather prolonged minute: attempting to process just what the fuck she'd just said, before giving up and opting for the truth. "But Lindsey, I'm not a statue, I'm not some marble artifact. I'm a fucking person." He paused, "all Frank did was treat me like one. People don't do that, and it's not like it's unheard of to be quiet or not like being touched, or shy, or whatever..." Gerard quickly found himself lost in the passion behind his words, "I'm not some fucking metaphor or pretty fucking picture in your mind, I'm a fucking  _ person _ . You can't sugar coat things like that. Don't make me pretty. Don't make me beautiful. I'm depressed and I don't take my pills, and I think about killing myself sometimes. I'm not beautiful and I'm not mysterious."

Lindsey sat in silence for a good few minutes as she attempted to process what Gerard had just told her in the state of mind she was in, and that was perhaps exactly why Gerard had done so, because in earnest, he didn't deem her at all capable of recalling very much in her current situation, and there was also the simple matter that he'd run out of fucks to give come the morning of November 1st.

Finally, she opened her mouth to speak, "Gerard, I-" Only to throw her hand back over her mouth in shock, as her face paled slightly, "I'm gonna-" She slurred her words slightly before hurrying to her feet and rushing into the bathroom across the hallway, and as Gerard heard the sounds of a groan, he got to his feet.

Taking his eyes away from the bathroom, he focused up back upon the light, but found the moth to have flown away from the bulb throughout the duration of his conversation with Lindsey. He gave a slight sigh, and took it as a sign that he should too.

And with Lindsey retching in the bathroom, he made his way downstairs and towards the front door.

-

Beyond the front door, it was all grey skies and varying unsteady tones of light, and empty roads with darkened corners that were only slightly illuminated by streetlights flickering dirty unsaturated shades of amber and gold.

There was a certain cold to the air, and Gerard found himself momentarily considering going back to get a jacket, because there was just something blatantly idiotic about standing out in the middle of a street at half past four in the morning in November, but there was something blatantly idiotic about worrying about being cold if you planned to off yourself within the next thirty minutes or so.

Because that's all it was. This was all there was left.

This walk.

This one walk up to the lake.

And then everything was over.

And his heart held a stronger presence in his chest, and each footstep was weighted much more than it should have been, and it was almost as if his body was aware of what was to come, and was fighting it somewhat.

Because there was, of course, that damn fucking survival reflex, that was buried somewhere deep within him - that part that yearned not to drown. This was the part that would battle: this was the part that would keep breathing, this was the part that would resist, and of course, this was the part of himself that Gerard despised the most.

It was only perhaps a ten to fifteen minute walk from Frank's house to the lake: a journey taking a series of winding roads, and then eventually an even more winding dirt path until you found yourself tucked away up in the outskirts of town by the cool dark water of the lake.

Gerard had never really opted to spend much time there; no one had, after all what was the point of visiting a lake when you lived by the ocean? What was the point in anything when there would always be something, and indeed someone better.

Gerard would never let himself be classed as Frank's best boyfriend, because what kind of good boyfriend went and killed themself the day after your birthday? That's right. Gerard was a terrible boyfriend, and a terrible person, and he knew he'd upset everyone in his actions, yet still, he held it like a badge of honour as he continued past dark, sleeping houses lined up neatly painted in shades of cream and brown, all with small front gardens and gravel driveways and chimneys upon the rooftops.

Indeed, everything about this town was so ordered and precise, and groomed, and prettied, that Gerard found distaste, and very much felt out of place as the shivering, teenage boy wandering through the streets at leaning in on five in the morning.

He wanted to watch the sunrise before everything fell apart. He wanted to watch, he wanted to watch himself die from someone else's eyes, and he wasn't quite sure why, he just wanted to feel it, to feel something, because he was so fucking  _ numb _ , so fucking numb, and so fucking cold, and he wondered if he could catch hypothermia out here in the November air and wouldn't even notice because he was all numb and severed nerve endings and heavy weights on his eyelids and a lack of colour to his skin, a lack of shimmer to his eyes, a lack of kick in his heart, a lack of intent in the steady inhale and exhale cycle of his lungs, as if they were quite tired of it all: of breathing, of keeping up and running along after this run down sham of a body.

But it was all okay now.

Everything was all okay.

Everything was perfect as the end of a dimly lit street gave way to a dirt path that Gerard had perhaps gone as far as to burn into his mind, because this was the end - the least street he'd walk, the last house he'd see to his right: so many fucking lasts and Gerard wanted to count them - to make a list, to write about it in blue ink, because that was perhaps all he knew to do, but it was too late for that: it was too late for anything but the softness of dirt beneath his shoes, and the way he seemed to sink slightly under his own weight due to the slippery nature of the ground.

It had rained that night.

For once.

Gerard had the excuse to be drenched, but only when it no longer mattered, for he had figured out what had occurred in the lapses of his memory, for in the lapses of his memory, and indeed the lapses of himself, he'd become less conscious of a certain pressure and weight held by a certain date, and gotten impatient, but it had never quite worked. Of course, as to why, Gerard hadn't quite concluded, and indeed he perhaps never would, but as these thoughts would stay firmly on the inside of his head, it was perfectly okay to admit to his own failure.

His last failure, hopefully.

For this could absolutely  _ not _ go wrong. There wasn't a chance in hell that he could let this slip, and of course, he'd brought precautions: precautions in the form of a pocket full of things to make it better.

Make something better.

Anything.

Gerard didn't care anymore, he just wanted to believe that it'd be easier, because he was such a coward when it came down to it, and terrible when it came to confrontation, and there was just something daunting about the importance of this all: of this one date, and of the shades of lighter blue looming over the horizon: the threat of the sunrise, the threat of the waking world, the threat of a tomorrow - a threat that worked to quicken his pace, until he finally reached the top of the hill.

Gerard found himself standing there, just a few metres away from the shore of the navy blue clouded mass of water that was the lake: looking over it, and letting out a muffled kind of choked sob, because fuck, this was fucking it, and  _ god _ , fuck, fuck, this was fucking hard, somehow, the only thing he could do was hard.

This was all he'd wanted: right there before him, and somehow it was hard, and somehow Gerard was getting cold feet, physically also, but he bit his tongue,  _ hard _ , and cursed to himself, before reaching into his pocket in search of certain precautions, as he allowed his eyes to fixate upon the beginning hopes of a sunrise, and then flicker down across the town to the shoreline.

There was beauty within it all: beauty within this place, beauty within everything, as beauty was subjective, yet definitely omnipresent. And Gerard recalled how Frank had called him beautiful, and how that had meant so much and yet nothing at all, because Frank was just a boy, just a boy who loved him, just a boy who he'd known a month; Gerard wondered if that was really long enough to fall in love with someone.

Gerard came to grips with the fact that standing here now he would  _ never _ know, and indeed, there was a whole fucking plethora of things he would never find out, and yet, he found himself oddly content with that, because today was November 1st and this was how it had to be.

Gerard kicked his shoes off by the shoreline, withdrawing a small handful of pills from his jeans pocket, and glancing over them with a sigh: as Kat had taken away his own personal supply of medication, he'd resorted to other measures of acquiring them, and the pills that lay in his palm had once been in the medicine cabinet in Frank's house.

He hoped they weren't important to anybody, but then again, the thing hadn't been locked, and Gerard would never know, so he opted for shrugging it off, and glancing back across the town: burning the sunrise into his eyes before clasping his hand to his mouth and downing the pills.

His throat burned slightly as he swallowed them, but that was the last thing on his mind as he drew his gaze over the lake and stepped forward, because this was it, and it is now.

This was the fucking end.

And Gerard took a moment just to breathe: to fucking breathe and try not to fucking cry, but dear god, he was fucking crying, and- fuck. At least there was no one there to see him cry, but, he found himself judging himself in their place, because this had been hyped up as all he'd ever wanted, and yet he was crying.

Always fucking crying.

Always fucking pathetic.

Always such a mess.

And nothing could ever change that, despite the bringing of an end to that always.

Because there was always an end.

Always an end.

Always a way out.

It just wasn't always the good or easy option, and that was certainly one thing he'd learned throughout October.

But October had come to an end nearly five hours ago, and it was 4:58 in the morning, and Kat was an early riser, and Gerard was scared.

Gerard was scared.

Scared of everything.

Scared of the world.

Scared of falling.

Scared of not letting go.

Scared of never even getting close.

But he pulled himself together eventually and swallowed hard, and took the first step into the water just past the shore; it reached his ankles and instantly brought on the numbing kind of cold that lit up his body like sparks, and Gerard could never quite figure out as to just what had gone so wrong in his brain to make him like this.

And maybe with time, those pills  _ would _ have fixed him, but it was just too late to find out now.

Gerard stepped further, the water at his knees, and he was already so wet and so cold, and physically shivering all over, and it was fucking wonderful, because the cold was breaking through the numbed shell of his emotions, and he was  _ feeling _ : feeling sharp spikes of a white kind of pain that had him squirming, and everything was screaming at him to get out of the water, but he just didn't want the scream to stop; he'd let himself go out with a ringing in his ears if that was how it had to be.

He'd be all echoes and whispers and unresponsive muscles as freezing water pulled up to his waist. And he considered whether he'd even be able to get back out at this point, because the slope of the lake was gradual at first, and he was already several metres away from the shore, and he here was: really doing this, really fucking doing this.

As he stepped forward: deeper into the water, he found his head suddenly becoming very light upon his shoulders, and the whole world beginning to spin around him slightly, and Gerard wondered if he should perhaps feel somewhat concerned, but here he was: with water up to his elbows, and his limbs beginning to seize up with the overwhelming cold of it all, because fuck, it was so fucking cold, and  _ fuck _ , fuck,  _ fuck _ .

Gerard had found himself so concerned on the matter of making it through the water, that he had even momentarily forgotten about just what this was all to achieve, but as he found himself in the position to offer one last thought to his situation and Frank still asleep in bed, with a haphazardly scrawled note to find upon waking, his head grew lighter, and thought seemed to render itself incomprehensible.

With little else left to do in a world that seemed to be spinning around him, Gerard stepped forward once more, but found himself slipping slightly as he did so, and finding that the gradual slope of the lake had become much less gradual in a very short space of time, because suddenly there was nothing beneath his feet for quite a while downwards.

Gerard attempted to force himself forwards, but instead found his whole body ceasing to respond, and his limbs simply crumbling under any attempt to exert force or action within them, and his whole body folding in upon itself as his head disappeared underwater, and his vision blurred slightly.

Water poured into his lungs: cutting through his throat and burning out his insides, and  _ fuck _ , everything hurt. Everything fucking  _ hurt _ : it stung, and Gerard hadn't expected it to hurt like this; Gerard hadn't known what to expect, as he had assumed it to be so temporary, but time seemed to have thrown itself into slow motion, as minutes dragged themselves out to be rather permanent.

Lights and blurry shapes in the place objects, the vague echo of bubbles and a ringing in his ears, a stinging all over, a burning sensation throughout his body, and a total lack of control: there was nothing to him, there was nothing to his limbs - there was this lake, and there was his vision growing darker, and there was the end.

And Gerard couldn't help but grow panicked at the burning inside him: a simple reflex, much as the response was - the response to breathe, but there was nothing  _ to _ breathe at the bottom of the lake, and his insides only continued to burn. Everything continued to burn: drenched with water, he was on fire, and he'd never felt anything so strongly before.

He burned, and he ached, for in the last moments before death, he'd never felt so alive.

For there was fire, there was light, there was pain, and then there was nothing.

-

When Frank woke up, it was twenty past nine that morning, and the room was full with the golden toned rays of morning sunlight, leaving him confused, as he stood with the certainty that he'd closed the curtains last night before getting into bed.

Because they had: him and Gerard, they'd closed the curtains and kissed some more and lay down under the covers, and he'd fallen asleep first, but he'd awoken briefly at three in the morning and found Gerard sleeping soundly, and that left his worries soothed, and made everything just that little bit more okay and allowed him to drift back to sleep.

But come twenty past nine, the bed was empty, and as Frank came to realisation just what an empty bed and an empty room meant, his heart was pounding in his chest, and he disregarded all sense of fatigue and the desire to stay curled up under the covers forever in favour of a search for answers, because Frank couldn't help but jump to conclusions, and then force himself backwards, to think inside the lines of the box he wanted to tick, because he wanted Gerard just to be downstairs, or in the bathroom, and in his head, he built him up as so, and with every thought, his own vision of the world only grew more vivid.

And for a moment, just a moment, Frank stood there in the sunlight: alone and contemplative, and hating that he was losing grip, losing grip on the facade he found himself so desperately clinging to.

It was then that his gaze fell upon the slip of paper Gerard had left for him five hours earlier:  _ 'I'm okay. I went out. Nothing's your fault. Love you. I'm sorry. Gerard. _ '.

Frank swore he'd reread the note at least several hundred times, because it served as an explanation yet not an explanation he was eager to accept, because by 'went out', Frank suspected that Gerard had hidden self away at the other side of town once more, and that whole ordeal was not one he wanted to endure once more, with Kat yelling at him, and that whole mess surrounding the pills.

The fucking pills.

Frank found himself doubtful as to what kind of difference they could really make, but then again, that wasn't for him to decide; he wasn't a medical professional, just someone who cared - he just hoped that whatever came of this, Gerard would be happy.

Because that was all Frank wanted: for the two of them to be happy, and for there to be some perfectly shaped elusive happy ending: for it to be smiles all around, and for him to find himself stood in the November that he had dreamed of at the start of October, and not alone in his bedroom on the day after his birthday, clutching a note with worry, and then trying to suppress the worry, because he was all over reactions, and sometimes he made himself sick with it all.

And then, Frank's phone was vibrating in his pocket, which gave him quite the start, as for just a moment, he'd managed to forget that he even owned a cellphone, let alone the fact that someone was calling it, and it was in his jeans pocket, and on vibrate. But within the space of several moments, Frank finally managed to pull his sleepy, anxious self into a somewhat competent state of mind.

It was Kat who was calling him, which left Frank a little confused, because weren't they literally somewhere else in his house, and he most certainly didn't live in a mansion? But he didn't quite manage to ponder that long enough before his thumb fell over the 'accept call' button and he put the phone to his ear.

"Hey," he began: his tone inquisitive, and a little confused, but overall positive -  _ hopeful _ .

Kat's tone of voice was world's away from Frank's, and that was immediately evident. "Fuck... fuck... fuck, Frank, he isn't with you, is he? Gerard. Because I went home. I went fucking home, because I don't like showering in other people's houses and I- that's all so fucking irrelevent, I-" His words seemed to seize up in his throat as he spoke, "and I... Gerard's not here, and I... there's... he left this- this  _ thing _ on his desk in his room, and I-" Kat's words came to a halt as they let out a rather abrupt, breathy kind of half sob.

"Kat?" Frank's heartbeat suddenly began to pick up, "no he's not here, but he left this note for me: saying that he'd gone out. So I guess that's just it - maybe he'll be back, or should I go back up to that hill to look for him again I-"

"That's not the only note he left, Frank." Kat's voice was suddenly very unstable: changing in pitch and tone as he stumbled over the words with extra caution as if they were made of a very fragile glass. "This is... this is... this is- fuck, Frank, you need to get out of the house now, you need-"

"To come over?" Frank asked: struggling to comprehend exactly what was going on, but finding himself very fucking aware of the panic in Kat's voice.

"No, Frank- fucking... fucking go to the lake, fucking go there now!" Kat's voice rather rapidly and unexpectedly ascended into a yell, "because fuck, please say it's not too late, please I- fucking, I-"

Frank was still largely unaware as to what was actually happening, but he was very,  _ very _ aware of the panic and distress evident in Kat's voice, and therefore simply grabbed a jacket and made his way out of his bedroom and out the front door without anything in the way of a question. "Too late for what?" Frank finally dared himself to ask as he began to jog up the road towards the lake: still holding his phone to his ear, and fuck, he was pretty sure he forgot to probably close his front door, but somehow, now, that seemed utterly irrelevant: something was wrong, something was so  _ very _ wrong, and Frank could feel it now: through and through, like a sickness rotting his bones.

Kat let out a choked sound once more, "I fucking... this fucking note- fuck, he left- he's left, he's left like six fucking pages just written in notes, and I'm trying to read but his handwriting's so fucking messy and I- I'm crying, and everything's blurry and fuck, I think- I think... I think, Frank, I think he wants to kill himself."

And it felt like all the blood had just drained from Frank's body as he immediately stood still in the street.

Because no.

Fuck, no.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

This couldn't be happening.

Kat had to have been mistaken.

But they weren't.

Kat didn't tend to be wrong about things.

But Frank couldn't bare the weight of that truth under the circumstances.

Because it just couldn't be true.

It just couldn't-

He just-

He-

Frank was pretty sure he managed to shortcircuit his brain by the time Kat's voice reappeared once more.

"Frank?" Kat's voice was unsteady like before, and overly punctuated with equally shaky breaths, "I- I-... Frank, just... just get to the lake." And the pleading tones in his voice brought Frank into a sprint: with little regard for caution or control as he made his way down one final street and up to a dirt path, listening to the sounds of Kat's breathing growing ever more shaky and unstable as he stumbled to the top of the hill: almost slipping twice in the process, but suddenly none of that mattered at all.

Because suddenly everything so very real, and suddenly so very ice cold, and yet on fire at the same time, for at the water's edge were Gerard's combat boots and a trail of footprints leading into the lake, but no trail leading back out.

And Frank didn't cry. Frank didn't feel like he  _ could _ cry; Frank just felt empty, too fucking empty, as if the steadying of his heartbeat was the hardest thing in the world, and in such a reality, there was no place for crying, and Frank tried to focus on the shallow intake and exhale of breath, but found himself incapable: found his heart stuttering and stopping and pounding and his whole body shuddering all over, because this couldn't be true.

This couldn't be true.

And yet here it was.

It was real: despite everything, it was real.

Despite every I love you.

It had been this way all along.

Frank could only wonder how he could have done this. How could have done this to him and to Kat, and to everyone who loved him, and fuck-  _ no _ , it had... it couldn't- and he found himself tempted to walk in right after him, to fucking find that body, to fucking bring him back somehow, or to prove that it wasn't there at all- because this had to be a hoax, this had to be a cruel fucking joke, but it was nothing, nothing at all, but real.

"Are you there yet?" Kat's voice reappeared once more: stumbling over his words like before, "is he there? Fuck, is he there? Is he there yet?"

"Y-yes." Frank choked over the response.

"He's- he's  _ okay _ , what's he- can you- I- fuck, Frank- what's going on, I- he's  _ okay _ , he's-"

"He's  _ there _ ." Frank continued: his words like heavy weights on his chest: like an anchor to the bottom of his ocean. "Not here. He's there. In the lake."

And it was saying it aloud that finally had Frank crying.

Because that made it more real than it could have possibly been before: more real than what lay right before his eyes.

"No! He-  _ no _ ," Kat choked out, before falling into a sob. "How do- how do- you're not sure- you can't be sure- you can't, you-"

"His boots. At the shore, and..." Frank took a step closer towards the shoreline, "footprints," he suddenly felt like being sick, "into the lake, but not back out again, and I-" Suddenly his gaze fell upon something in the sand.

A sentence written in the sand beside the boots just away from the reach of the water:  _ 'I wish there was another month between October and November so we could have had more time, but it was always November 1st. Always had to be this way.' _

_ - _


	33. Epilogue

_ Dear Kat, _

_ This is it. This is everything: everything that has ever been and will ever be for encompassed and sealed off. This is all that remains, for me, at least. _

_ You can assume that if you're reading this that I have done something you wouldn't have wanted me to do, and I am sorry, and I'm asking you please not to cry, because every ending is a beginning, and surely something will come of this - I am not the be all or end all of anything at all, and please do not treat me as such. I am just a person. No, not even that. I was just a person. _

_ For this is it. This is November. _

_ It's been so long now: it's been months and months that I have planned this, and now, finally it's been... I mean, presumably, I have done it - killed myself, that is. Because November 1st has been a date holding too much meaning for a rather long time now - it's my suicide date, it's the end, and I'm sorry for anything and everything. _

_ I hope you can forgive me, I hope you're not too sad, because this isn't the end, this isn't the end for you: you have this whole life, this whole world, whereas I... I am... I am nothing. _

_ Don't argue with me, well I mean you can't argue with me. I'm dead. I'm a body at the bottom of the lake. I am peaceful, and I will know the greatest mystery of what it is like to die. You are more than that, you are more than me. Please remind everyone of that: that I dictate very little, and I should materialise as little more than a passing thought from now on, because in an ideal world, no one would be sad, but I know that is a cause for false hope, because I've been to funerals before, I've heard about deaths before, and people are sad, people are always sad, so I have no right or indeed no power to stop you from being sad. _

_ I just wish and ask that at some point you do stop being sad, because you have this whole life ahead of you: you have everything and I'm just your brother, sure you may have known and spent sixteen years of your life with me, but if you live to eighty, that will only be a fifth of your life, and that's hardly anything at all. You will have so much more, you will have this life and you will enjoy it and you will have these experiences, and I- I don't know how to phrase this, but that's just not for me. _

_ I don't agree with the concept of living happy lives, because I'm fucked up, aren't I? I can't do that. I can't live like that, because I'm fucked up in the head and I won't take pills because they don't help. So that makes me a headcase, just trouble, just a mess no one really wants to deal with. I don't see anything in my future. I don't see anything to do, in fact, it seems like the only date my life has ever built itself up to is November 1st, but by now we've passed that date: we've passed into November, and I am gone, but you, you are still alive, and I miss you, and I'm sorry, but this is how it is going to be. Let me decide that for myself, let me be selfish, let me scream at the top of my lungs, let me make a bad decisions, because it's the only thing that could ever make me feel alive. _

_ I hope Frank is okay. I know it's bad timing. I know the morning after his birthday was not a good choice at all, but it's over now - it happened, there's nothing anyone can change about this - all there is left is the matter of acceptance and moving on, because you can move on, and you will, and everything will be okay, because you're strong, Kat, you really are. I do worry about Frank, though, because we never got quite enough time together, we only had a month, but November 1st was so much bigger than him; he was never revolutionary, he was never the be all and end all of everything - he's just a boy, just a boy I happened to like a lot, and I want him to say the same for me, but I doubt that it could be so. _

_ Make sure that he's okay, though, look after him for me, but please look after yourself first. You matter a lot Kat, I love you so much. _

_ Tell mum this wasn't her fault too, and please try to accept her, be kind to her nw, for my sake, at least, because she's lost a husband and a son. Don't let her lose herself again, you have to stay with her. She loves you, Kat, she's your mother - you need to stop overthinking everything. _

_ You need to stop making assumptions, I think you'll be happier that way, because that's all I want of you - to be happy. For I am happy now, at the bottom of a lake, because water is the only thing that could ever bring me to a state of calm, and I know you don't want to hear that, but I think you should hear the truth, and that it most certainly isn't your fault. _

_ I just had this fucked up head, and that was my fault. _

_ Don't make the funeral a big deal. I'm unsure as to whether I even want a funeral, but I imagine mum wants one, but don't let people who never even cared about me come - just let it be a small thing, and dear god, don't make it open casket, I don't want you looking at this fucking body that you assume as me, for I am not the body, I am the soul, and I am gone by now. But I have this feeling, that everything is somehow cyclical, like how the water in the sea can one day rain down upon your face over and over again: it's the same water from the dawn of time, and in your body, your blood is the same blood you were born with: just circulated over and over again. So maybe somehow, you will see me again, and we will find each other in a form that I could bear slightly more. _

_ I love you. Please don't cry. Please don't reread this a thousand times. Please live in the present and not the past. _

_ I'm sorry that I lied to you so many times. _

_ I'm sorry that I can never say this face to face, because writing it down seems so simple, but it remains the only option I have. You'd stop me, and I know that, and I know it's because you care, but you won't ever quite understand. _

_ But I'm happy now. I promise you that. _

_ Gerard. _

_ - _

Kat's hands were shaky with knuckles white in places and bruised and bloody in others; they had tried to sleep so many times, they had tried to listen, they had tried to regard Gerard's every word in that letter, but November had been the hardest month of their life. November had been a horror show from start to finish and at four in the morning on December 1st, they sat cold and empty inside in their bed: the house was empty and quiet, for there was an empty room that no one dared to walk into or touch, and too many chairs, and the kind of foods he liked still left in the fridge, and his toothbrush in the bathroom, and simple things like that which cut into Kat as they had attempted to continue living that month.

They'd had some time off school, as had been expected, but they weren't entirely sure as to whether that had been such a good idea, for all they had accomplished was the matter of sitting in a huddle and crying as they clutched and reread Gerard's last letter to them. 

It was getting to the point where they could perhaps memorise every single word of it, and that was when they knew that they had to stop - put a stop to this somehow, to this loop of questions and answers they could never provide.

And that was what drew Kat to their desk at four in the morning: flicking the light switch on, they grabbed a pen and a sheet of paper and hoped to settle this within them to some degree: acceptance and all of that bullshit that seemed to have passed him straight by.

_ - _

_ Dear Gerard, _

_ I don't know why I am replying. Why I am writing a reply you will never read or receive, but I am, and it's four in the morning. It's been a month. It's December now and it still fucking hurts. Everything fucking hurts, Gerard, why the fuck did you have to do this? Christmas won't be the same, you know? Nothing will ever be the same. _

_ The house is all empty rooms and questions we don't ask and subjects we avoid, and mum tries not to cry, but she is always crying, and I hear her sometimes in the kitchen, when she has the radio and she's cooking, because she thinks about you, and she thinks how she doesn't have to cook to accommodate the fact you'll hardly eat anything, but now she wants to - she misses that. _

_ Everyone misses you. _

_ And I know, that this is just a small fraction of my life, and this is just, this is first grief, and this is- no, you know what? Fuck that. Fuck that, Gerard, you're my brother, you're my fucking brother and I love you and you fucking drowned yourself because you decided there was nothing for you because you needed to take pills? _

_ Fuck that, Gerard. _

_ Of course there was something for you. There was the whole fucking world for you. There was so much more than November 1st - that never had to be the fucking end, why the fuck did you have to die at seventeen? You died a child, you died before you even got out of high school, before you could even figure out what living means. _

_ I went home that morning, the morning of November 1st, at about nine, because Frank's house was a mess of drunk passed out people and I wanted some time to myself, and I went into your room just to check, you know, after the pills thing, because I was fucking worried about you - I'd had this feeling for so long that something was off, and you know what? I was fucking right, but fuck, what could I possibly have done? What the fuck could I have done? _

_ I found what you left, I found the notes and at first it felt like I had died because I couldn't fucking breathe and I couldn't believe it, so I tried to convince myself that this couldn't be somehow, that maybe you hadn't done it yet, so I called Frank, and tried to convince myself that maybe you were still with him and that maybe we could still save you, but you weren't. And I told Frank to go to the lake, to see if you were still there, but you weren't there either, there were just your shoes by the shore. _

_ I don't think drowning was peaceful at all. And I think you know that now. The doctors told me it burns. You were being fucking stupid. I love you, though. I fucking love you. _

_ A police officer showed up about fifteen minutes or so after Frank had arrived there and talked to him, and I stayed on the phoneline sat in your bedroom, clutching your letter, fucking shaking all over, and I listened to the officer and Frank talk, and I noticed how everything seemed to be drifting away from me, and how I felt like I was dying too. _

_ But I will never know how it is like to die, none of us will, and maybe that's for the better, because I don't at all imagine that it could be pleasant. _

_ More police officers, a fire engine, and an ambulance were called, and I stayed on the phone, because I couldn't bare to be there: I couldn't imagine moving, but Frank was there, and he watched as the firemen got your body out of that fucking lake, and he watched you laying lifeless on the stretcher as they carried you into the ambulance, and they didn't let him ride in the ambulance, but the police officer was really nice and drove him to the hospital after you. _

_ You were pronounced officially dead by eleven that morning, and as we stood in that hospital room: me, mum, and Frank, and saw you motionless, dead, pale, laying there in that bed, I felt like I should be crying my eyes out, but I felt so empty, I felt nothing at all, and mum was all sporadic sobs for days afterwards, and Frank went into an angry mess and gave at least twenty people a black eye and got excluded from school, because he just couldn't deal with anything at all. _

_ But it was like I had no reaction. I was just there motionless, and I simply reread your letters, and I'm trying to move on, but this won't fucking go away. _

_ The image of your lifeless face on that hospital bed a month ago won't fucking go away. _

_ Frank figured it out, you know? _

_ It took him a few days. It took us a few days to pull ourselves together to the most basic level, because fuck, no one is coping: you left a fucking hole Gerard, and nothing is ever going to fill that fucking hole because, yeah, sure, people can try, but no one is ever going to be you, and therefore no one could ever fill a you shaped hole. I'm going to have this hole forever - it's going to be there, and it's going to hurt, but it's stopped bleeding now, at least, and the initial shock of everything has numbed, but that's only because fucking everything else has numbed too, and it just fucking aches. _

_ It fucking hurts everyday. _

_ And it's going to hurt. _

_ Forever. _

_ And I fucking wish you could have understood just how much people care, and how much people love you, and don't even try to consider arguing that it's only because you're gone and that people only care once you're in the grave, because that's a whole load of fucking bullshit that is, Gerard. We love you. We've always fucking loved you. We're always going to love you. _

_ Your death isn't going to change that. It just makes it hurt more. _

_ But Frank figured it out, and I think I yelled at him too much, but he had it there: he had everything, all the fucking letters - everything. He had all he needed to figure out what was going on weeks before it actually happened, but he didn't - somehow he couldn't do that, and now you're dead, and I feel like that's his fault to some degree, but of course it isn't, and of course, that's horrible thing to think, and it's not going to accomplish anything at all. _

_ But you wrote so many letters, and reading them all fucking cut into me. It's been hell. And don't even tell me that I didn't have to read any of them, because fuck, of course I fucking did, I need to understand: I need answers, I need to come to terms with this, I need to understand you, and I'm trying - I'm trying so hard, but I think maybe you're right, because I don't think I ever will be able to comprehend how you could possibly think that this wouldn't affect people that much. _

_ I'm not going to move on. _

_ It's fucking alright for you. I'm glad you're fucking happy. But you're not happy at all, you just lack the capacity to be sad when you're dead, and that's not fucking happy - that's the fucking bullshit way out and I- _

_ I'm sorry. _

_ Don't talk about the days you won't see, don't talk about this being your final year, your final November, your last October, the last halloween, because it's not fucking like that for me. Those were just my last days, my last months, my last year with you, and I have to face November 1st again next year, and I have to feel this all: all over again, each year for the rest of my fucking life. _

_ You left a hole, Gerard. A really fucking big hole. _

_ We had your funeral on the 11th. It was a kind of a small thing, as you had requested, and it was fucking horrible. We had the service on the beach - that was mum's idea, she thought it best, but it just made me fucking think of every time we'd spent together there, and have those memories poisoned with such a horrible fucking affair clad in all black in November chilled winter air and the empty space next to me where you should have been standing, not in that fucking coffin, but not standing at all - just laid there, just fucking dead, and I couldn't cry, I felt like I was going to be sick: I felt like everything inside me was burning up, and the air was heavy with salt from the sea, and I couldn't fucking breathe: I was suffocating right there on the beach, with Pete by my side, and I think I would have fainted if he hadn't held me tight and let me breakdown in his arms. _

_ You need people like that at funerals. People you love, to some degree, people to hold you, people to kiss you, people to understand, people to hear you cry. I think that's why dad came back. He came for your funeral, and stayed home overnight, and he felt out of place in our living room like he didn't belong and the chair at the table wasn't really his and we didn't have the kind of tea he drinks anymore, so he had coffee even though he doesn't like coffee but he drank it because mum made it for him and he wanted to be polite. _

_ And it was all fucking smiles. _

_ Fucking awkward smiles that don't mean a thing because you're dead and you're not here to see them. Mum and dad are back together now, and things are getting better, but that doesn't fucking matter at all because you're not here to see it, and you would have liked it: you would have cared for it more than I would have and I see that every time I see them. _

_ I see that every time I see a smile, because you would always have found more light in it than I could ever have. _

_ I see that every time I see or feel anything, because you would always have appreciated to a greater extent than I was capable of doing. _

_ Frank cried so much at the funeral. He didn't leave the beach for almost three days. I had to bring him out meals, because he just sat there at the shoreline for days, and you know what he said when I asked him why? _

_ He told me that he could feel you, your spirit, part of you in the ocean, and that he couldn't let you go. And I thought that was a whole load of fucking bullshit. _

_ And yet I held my fucking hand in the tide for hours with him. _

_ But the thing was, I don't why or I don't know how, but I could feel you too. It's hard to put into words, and maybe you were right, maybe as you died in the lake, that water came back up to the clouds, and rained back down upon the ocean. _

_ Or maybe that's a whole load of bullshit _

_ But I'll never know. _

_ It just makes me feel better, to think that maybe you're not gone fully. And I think I'll put this letter out there in the tide and watch it wash away in the ocean - whether just to avoid the matter of reading it over again and again, or if I really do believe you'd read it or feel it or find it somehow out there. _

_ I guess I'll never know. _

_ I will always love you so much, Gerard. I promise you that. _

_ Kat. _

_ - _

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Gerard's Waves](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6545788) by [wibblywobblytime77](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wibblywobblytime77/pseuds/wibblywobblytime77)




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